Biggles in the RAAF Ch 1
by TootsLogan
Summary: Biggles and the boys of 666 head Down Under to help out in the dark days of 1942. How did this come about? Where did they serve? What did they DO? After years of meticulous research, your correspondent can finally reveal the true story of Biggles and boys in the RAAF.
1. Chapter 1

**Biggles in the RAAF**

[_Author's Note: This little known interlude in Biggles' WWII career (so little-known, in fact, that WEJ appears to have been completely unaware of it!) can finally be revealed. Biggles and the boys of 666 head Down Under to help repel the threatened Japanese invasion in the dark days of 1942. How did this come about? Where did they serve? What did they DO?_

_After years of meticulous research, your correspondent can finally reveal the true story of Biggles and boys in the RAAF.]_

[Disclaimer – I do not own Biggles, Algy, Ginger, Bertie or any of the 666 boys, nor Raymond. These remain the property of the copyright holder of WE John's estate. I do, however, retain intellectual ownership of the characters Ken Mortensen, Jack Somers, Ted Edgars, Major-General Edgars, members of Ted's family, Tom, Rev Barnes, ]

Again, I must point out that this story has been previously published on another site - under the User name _RAAF Spitfire Girl_, so there is no plagiarism involved.

**Prologue - Biggles is Restless**

February 1942 – Rawlham, somewhere in Kent, England

Squadron Leader Bigglesworth, (known in every Air Force on Planet Earth as 'Biggles') replaced the telephone receiver with great care, drummed his fingers on his desk, and looked up at his second-in-command Flt Lt, the Honourable Algernon Lacey, his lips narrowing to a thin line.

"You know, Algy, old son, I think I've about had it up to here (he indicated a vague area above his head) with Raymond and his hair-brained suicide missions. I think the time has come to depart for warmer climes, where our talents will be more appreciated and respected."

Algy, hands shoved in pockets, stared at his Commanding Officer for several seconds, before smiling cynically.

"And just how do you propose to accomplish that?"

"I'm thinking of joining the RAAF – you know, the Aussies. I believe they wouldn't say no to an extra squadron of Spitfires lending a helping hand right now."

Algy leant forward and gently placed his hand on Biggles' brow.

"No, no temperature. You must simply be stark ravers, then."

"Shut up a minute and let me talk," interrupted Biggles impatiently. "Look, things are pretty much status quo here. We've done the Battle of Britain, the desert thing, been out East, helped Gimlet King out on a few of his ticklish jobs, been back-chatted by that cute little WAAF Joan Worralson a bit too often, and things look like being much of the same till we muster up the strength to liberate Europe. Quite frankly I can't see that happening for a few more years and all the while Raymond sits in Whitehall dreaming up more and more impossible suicide missions to send us out on. And look at the weather…"

"What's the weather got to do with it? This _is_ England and it _is_ still February…"

"Precisely. Snow, sleet, rain, freezing cold. Can't fly without wearing half your wardrobe. Now in the northern part of Australia right now, it's summer."

"Yes, and don't they have a funny thing called a wet season at this time of the year? I seem to remember being stuck in the amphibian somewhere on their northern shores for weeks in rain that never let up for a minute."

"But it wasn't cold! Besides," continued Biggles reasonably. "I've checked with their weather bureau and they're having an unseasonable drought this year in southern Queensland. I thought of taking the boys out there. I hear the Japs are keeping the Aussies pretty busy right now. Lots of action, flying, dog-fights…"

"Hah!" sneered Algy, "It's not Raymond's infinite supply of suicide missions. It's the weather and the fact that we haven't been able to fly lately!"

"Well, it's a bit more than that," protested Biggles as he tapped a cigarette on the back of his hand. "If you'll stop your amateur psychology efforts and just listen, I'll explain."

Biggles paused to light his cigarette and lent back watching the thin stream of smoke lazily rise to the ceiling.

"I was having dinner with Ken Mortensen the other day. Remember, he was with the Aussies in France back in '18. Their AFC squadron was just down the road from 266." Algy nodded in remembrance and Biggles continued. "Well, we've kept in touch on and off over the years. He was one of the bright boys behind getting the RAAF established in '21. Was an instructor at Point Cook for a few years. He made the service his career and is a somewhat exalted Air Vice-Marshall of the RAAF these days."

"Ah-hah!" exclaimed Algy, beginning to see where the conversation was leading. "He outranks Raymond, does he?"

Biggles allowed a small smile to play across his lips.

"He does, indeed. He had an interesting proposition for me…for us, really. Of course, ultimately it would have to be okayed by our own people but the idea is that we fly out a consignment of Beauforts for the new bomber and surveillance squadrons they're starting to form right now, then stay for a while and fly Spits against the Japs up around New Guinea and the Solomons. Cheeky blighters bombed Darwin1 last week – civilian casualties all over the place, I believe. They've very kindly sent several RAAF squadrons over here and there are any number of Aussies serving in the RAF, so it wouldn't hurt to engage in a bit of reciprocity, would it?"

"And you seriously think Raymond's going to allow us to go off into the wild blue yonder just like that?"

"What Raymond doesn't know until it's too late, won't hurt him," smiled Biggles reflectively.

Algy's eyes opened wide.

"I still think you're bordering on stark ravers, but if you think you can pull it off and put one over Raymond for once, I'm all for it."

"Let's not flirt with insubordination too much," Biggles frowned. "But yes, I think I'll call a Squadron meeting and warn the boys they need to be ready to move tomorrow. No need to give them too much info."

"Tomorrow!" exclaimed Algy incredulously. "You've had this planned for a while, haven't you?"

"Since this morning," returned Biggles evenly. "And you'd better get cracking if this squadron's to be travel-worthy by 1300 hours tomorrow."

1 On 19th February, 1942, the Japanese bombed Darwin on the Australian mainland. The two raids killed at least 243 people and between 300 and 400 were wounded. Twenty military aircraft were destroyed, eight ships at anchor in the harbour were sunk, and most civil and military facilities in Darwin were destroyed. The air attacks on Darwin continued until November 1943, by which time the Japanese had bombed Darwin 64 times. During the war other towns in northern Australia were also the target of Japanese air attack, with bombs being dropped on Townsville, Katherine, Wyndham, Derby, Broome and Port Hedland.


	2. Chapter 2

Three weeks later, four Bristol Beauforts landed smoothly on the runway at an Allied airstrip a few miles north of Brisbane, followed closely by a Douglas DC2 and rolled to a stop. From each emerged the weary men who'd flown half-way around the world, dodging enemy fire most of the way.

"Well," said Biggles as his men gathered around, "Here we are. Flight Sergeant Smyth, I'll leave you and your men to look after the machines before we finally hand them over."

Biggles broke off his conversation as two men walked up with outstretched hands.

"Biggles, you old warhorse. You made it, and all in one piece by the look of things!" exclaimed a sandy-haired man a few years older than Biggles', but whose shoulder epaulettes bore the insignia of an Air-Vice Marshall of the RAAF. "This is Jack Somers, Officer Commanding this base."

Biggles smiled and shook the younger man's hand. He looked to be somewhere in his late twenties and was already a Group Captain.

"Good to meet you, sir," Biggles introduced his officers to the two Australians.

"We don't stand much on ceremony here, Squadron Leader," grinned Somers. "The name's Jack. I've been hearing a lot about you from the AVM. Let's go over to the Mess for a drink and I'll get someone to show you to your quarters. Nothing flash, I'm afraid. It's all been knocked up pretty quickly. But I understand you won't be here too long. Just time to get your breath and you're off to Townsville."

"Sounds like you know more than I do," laughed Biggles. "Lead the way. We're all rather dry."

A group of airmen came up, relieving the travellers of their kitbags, and the group followed the senior officers to a wooden building with a low verandah. Inside, a ceiling fan made lazy circles in an abortive attempt to cool the oppressive sub-tropical heat. The Mess was empty, apart from the Mess Sergeant.

"What'll you have?" asked Somers.

"As long as it's wet and cold, we don't care," replied Biggles with a sideways glance at Tug, whose non-alcoholic preferences were known throughout 666.

"I'll have a lemonade, if that's okay, sir," Tug responded quietly.

"Better warn you, we like our beer cold in this country," commented Mortensen as the waiter placed cold beers and a lemonade on the tables.

"So, we're heading north soon? Why didn't we just go straight there instead of flying here? Would have saved a couple of thousand miles flying time."

"There is method in my madness, Biggles. I'll fill you in shortly. Wrap your insides around that beer first," despite his light tone, Biggles could see the seriousness behind the AVM's manner.

After relaxing over drinks and pilot chat, Mortensen rose to his feet.

"Somers and I'll see you and Lacey now, Biggles. The rest of you take it easy for a while." He nodded pleasantly at the remaining officers of 666 Squadron and led the way outside, where the two English pilots were again reminded of the draining effects of the intense humidity of the sub-tropical climate.

"Think there'll be a storm later," drawled Somers laconically as he gazed towards the south where dark clouds could be seen piling up against the intense blue of the afternoon March sky.

'Is it my eyes, or is there a bit of green in those clouds," asked Algy curiously.

"No, it's green alright. Someone's in for a nasty one. Hail. With a bit of luck it'll go around and not hit us," replied Somers. He waved to a senior NCO standing by some nearby hangars and pointed to the sky. The NCO turned and stared, waved back and started barking orders to the airmen working in the open on aircraft. Before their eyes, the previously lazy scene turned into a hive of activity as men ran to drag the vulnerable aeroplanes under the cover of the hangars. Somers nodded in satisfaction and grinned.

"Good bloke, Bob Watson. He's on the ball, alright."

"You're not taking any chances, I see," Biggles looked thoughtfully at the advancing clouds.

"Not likely! These storms unroof and smash buildings. The hail goes right through...puts dints in your car like you wouldn't believe, and really spoils our nice little aeroplanes. If it hits, you'll know all about it. You don't want to be caught outside in a decent hailstorm. A man can get killed."

Turning smartly, Somers led the way to a low wooden building with a plaque bearing the inscription "_RAAF Pine Rivers Station Headquarters_". The four men walked through an Orderly Room and into an adjoining office marked "_Officer Commanding, Group Captain J Somers_".

"Take a pew," he invited as he closed the door. "I'll hand over to the Air Vice Marshall. He'll bring you up to scratch."

Mortensen perched on one corner of Somers' desk and regarded Biggles and Algy.

"First of all let me say I'm jolly glad you're here. Things have been getting a bit rough out here the past few months. I know you're only one squadron, but as you'll know from your own home front, it's amazing the difference just one extra squadron can actually make. Our boys are doing well. Really well, all things considered. But the Japanese advance has been a bit faster than any of us expected. We've got to stop them in New Guinea. They landed at Lae earlier this month. If they take Port Moresby, it's just a hop, skip and a jump across Torres Strait to the northern tip of Queensland. If they ever got a foot-hold in our northern jungles, well, we'd have a much tougher job than we already face, and that's saying something."

"At the moment, we're short of suitable fighter aircraft. We're churning out Beaufort bombers but our new Boomerang fighter has only just commenced production from the prototype. Earliest we can expect delivery is around May. So right now, we're pretty much dependent upon Spitfires. We'll be getting some Kittyhawks from the Yanks soon, too. What is not common knowledge is that when I was in England a few weeks ago, I was securing a deal with your government to ship a consignment out to us – enough to equip an extra five squadrons – to tide us over till the Boomerangs start coming off line and the Kittyhawks arrive."

Biggles raised his eyebrows.

"And they agreed? I was under the impression we were hard pressed to meet the demands of our own supply needs."

"Well, it took a bit of persuading," Mortensen grinned reminiscently. "We – er – did gently point out the contribution Australia's been making to the African and Mediterranean campaign over the past 18 months, not to mention the numbers of our boys who joined the RAF, nor the numbers of RAAF units currently serving in the Northern Hemisphere. Some pompous idiot made the mistake of suggesting to our PM that we should just let the Japanese walk in and take Australia and Britain would see about helping us out after they'd dealt with Hitler! You should have seen the fireworks! I tell you Guy Fawkes Night wasn't in it! And, let me tell you, there's not one Australian man, woman or child, who'd stand back and let that happen! No, everyone's agreed. We have to stop Japan in New Guinea. They cannot be allowed to come any further south. MacArthur's surrounded by them in the Philippines and it's only a matter of days before they'll have to admit defeat. Just between you and me, you can expect him to be setting up his Pacific HQ right here in Brisbane, if he manages to get out."

The Air Vice-Marshall paused and passed a damp handkerchief wearily across his damp brow.

"Sorry, I get a bit passionate about all this. And this damned weather doesn't help!" He looked out the window at the gathering gloom. "Need the light on soon, Jack." He offered a cigarette box around and Biggles lit up, leaning back in his chair.

"No need to apologise, Ken," he smiled gently. "I think we're all passionate about defending our countries from dictatorial foreign powers. Maybe we've been so focused on our own defence that we haven't fully appreciated how grim it's beginning to look for you. Australia's such a big country and you blokes always seem so independent and self-assured that it's hard to realise you could really be under threat."

'Australia's being such a big country with so many thousands of miles of undefended coastline has become a major headache for us. On top of the Japanese threat, we've had rumours of U-boat sightings up north, too. And that brings me to why I wangled your move out here."

Mortensen glanced at his watch. "Thought Ted would've been here by now," he commented, looking at Somers. Just then the phone on the Group Captain's desk rang and Somers snatched the receiver.

"Yes, corporal. Send him straight to my office. Thank you." He smiled at his senior officer. "Just arrived, sir."

"The man I'm waiting on is a Sergeant with the Army Reserve based up in Far North Queensland. In his civilian job he's a telephone technician with the Post Master General's department. Ted's a bit peeved that he wasn't allowed to resign and join up but his job's considered essential services and he's damn good at what he does. So he joined the Reserve and spends all his weekends and any work related leave training our blokes. He's also a stubborn so-and-so. Wouldn't accept a commission. Said if he couldn't join up and fight then he'd damn-well stay in the ranks. Claims he's got more freedom." The Air Vice Marshall gave a rueful chuckle. "One in the eye for me, actually. He's also my elder sister's son."

Biggles and Algy exchanged amused glances. Before either could respond, there was a sharp rap on the door and the man under discussion entered. Biggles saw a tall, dark-haired man in his mid-thirties, with brown eyes that held a hint of challenge, wearing an Australian Infantry uniform with sergeant's stripes on his sleeves. The man entered, saluted, and then shook his uncle's hand warmly.

"Ted, let me introduce you to some friends of mine. You know Jack, of course. Jack was at school with Ted's younger brother," said Mortensen by way of explanation before introducing the sergeant to Biggles and Algy.

"This is Sergeant Henry Edgars, commonly known as 'Ted'. Ted, meet a couple of RAF mates of mine whom I've managed to wangle out here from under the noses of their own higher command for a while. Squadron Leader Bigglesworth and Flight Lieutenant Lacey."

The keen brown eyes assessed Biggles and Algy as Edgars acknowledged the introduction. Biggles smiled inwardly. There was no suggestion of insubordination in the man. He was obviously very much at ease with both his uncle and Jack Somers, and like most Australians, would probably reserve judgment on the newcomers as to whether they would earn his respect, commissioned officers or not!

"Take a seat, Ted," invited Somers, indicating a spare chair. "We're keen to hear what you can tell us about New Guinea. Ted's just back from a stint up there with the Coast Watchers1. You know about them?"

"No, we don't, as a matter of fact," answered Biggles. "It sounds interesting, though."

"Well, briefly, we're setting up a network of ex-pats along the New Guinea coastline and surrounding islands," Mortensen rejoined. "The idea is they'll send us back info on Japanese movements. Damned dangerous line of work for civilians. One poor bloke was tortured and murdered on Buka, off Bougainville. So now we're enlisting them all into the RAN. Hopefully having a combatant status will give them some sort of recognition should any of them be captured. Anyway, Ted's been up there helping set up the communication lines and he's given us some food for thought. This is where you'll come in Biggles."

Somers offered cigarettes all round and the men settled back in their chairs. Mortensen leaned forward from his position on the desk.

"Okay, Ted. This is essentially your show. Let's hear what you have to say."

Edgars tapped his cigarette ash into the nearby ashtray and nodded.

"Thanks, sir. As the Group Captain told you, I'm just back from a stint in New Guinea. While I was there, naturally I was talking to some of our Coast Watchers. It was part of my job to set them up with the best communications equipment we could provide. They're already providing vital information on enemy movements. I also got chatting to some of the local people, the New Guineans. They're not too thrilled with the Japanese invading their country, either. You'd be amazed at the help they're giving our blokes. Paying a big price, too, some of them." Edgars smiled reminiscently and a fleeting sadness also crossed his face, but was gone so quickly, if the other men hadn't been watching so closely they would have missed it. He drew on his cigarette and exhaled a stream of smoke.

1 For anyone interested in learning more about the work of the Coast Watchers in New Guinea and the Pacific in WWII, go to .


	3. Chapter 3

"Of course, we expected to hear about Japanese movements. Their shipping's making a menace of itself all down our east coast. Keeping our navy boys busy. What we didn't expect to hear was that there've been sightings of U-Boats. At least two separate incidents and both confirmed by our people. It's got us thinking. We expected Japanese shipping but not Germans. Word is that Hitler and Tojo have agreed to carve the world up between them and the Pacific is Tojo's territory. Well, he'd like to think it is, but he's got another thing coming if he thinks he's just going to walk in and take over."

Biggles frowned slightly. He was bemused by the man doing the talking. His easy confidence amongst his superior officers was doubtless explained by his relationship to them both, but it intrigued Biggles that a part-time army NCO should be privy to what should surely be considered matters of national security. Not only that, it appeared as if the sergeant was the one giving his superior officers the intelligence briefing. He became aware of Mortensen's eyes on him and glanced curiously at Algy. Algy, too, was appearing rather bemused.

Mortensen put a hand up. "Better stop a moment, Ted." He looked at Biggles and Algy and smiled sympathetically. "Believe me, we know what we're doing. Ted knows what he's talking about. And, I guess I should come clean and tell you that he's also in Military Intelligence."

Biggles nodded and smiled at the Australian NCO. "Ahh, that makes things a bit clearer."

Jack Somers grinned at Edgars. "We keep telling you, mate, you need to accept a commission. You just confuse people."

"Not flaming likely, Jack…er, Sir," replied the man with an apologetic grin. "You know my views and I'm not about to change for anyone. Can I continue, gentlemen?"

"Go right ahead," sighed Mortensen. "Do try to remember to at least pretend we're your superior officers, Ted."

"Sorry, sir," grinned the sergeant with obvious lack of any repentance. "Since they took Rabaul in January, not to mention the fall of Singapore last month, things are really hotting-up up north. The latest bad news is the Japs landed and took Lae. Not a flaming thing we could do about it. Only had a handful of militia men there. They were lucky to get out. Our regular boys are on their way home from the North African campaign and will be deployed to Port Moresby as soon as they arrive. In the meantime, we need air support to keep the Japs on their toes and stop them digging in. They've been unstoppable so far, but this has to be it. With the Americans on side, we'll stop them. We have to, or they'll invade. What we don't need is to have to fight the German Navy here as well as the Japanese!"

"How did the U-boat sightings come about?" asked Biggles curiously. He wondered how long the man before him had been on the move. There was a nervous energy about him, which belied his apparent laconic bearing. Edgars drew thoughtfully on his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray. He rose and walked over to the large wall map behind Somers' desk.

"Do you mind, Jack? Um, sorry, sir," he spoke almost absently, his attention firmly on the map. Somers and Mortensen exchanged tolerant chuckles and the Air Vice Marshall shook his head in resignation at Biggles.

"Hopeless," he mouthed, but his grin remained.

"No. Go right ahead, Ted. Feel free to take over my office any time, sergeant," drawled Somers, leaning back in his chair as he twisted around to look at the map. The faint sarcasm must have finally registered with the NCO. He swung back and had the grace to look slightly embarrassed.

"Sorry. I'm not usually this bad," he smiled apologetically at the British airmen. He looked ruefully at his uncle. "I'm afraid the last couple of weeks has left me a bit rattled. Sir."

"Okay, Ted. Don't overdo it," warned Mortensen. "They'll get used to you. Eventually. Just bring us up to scratch, will you?"

Edgars nodded and turned back to the map.

"The Japs took Timor at the end of last month. They've now over-run most of the islands to our north. I'm sure you know they've been bombing Darwin a fair bit over the past month. Our immediate concern now is to our immediate north. Here's Rabaul and here's Lae. The Japs have commenced building landing strips at both locations. Our intelligence reports are that they're going to try to take Moresby as the launching pad to north Queensland and full-scale invasion of the Australian mainland. We've got our hands full with what's in front of us over the coming months. And we ARE going to take them on. What we don't need are German U-boats added to the mix." The sergeant paused, looking at the four officers. "You asked me where we had reports of U-boat sightings, sir," nodding towards Biggles. He drew in a breath and turned back to the map, raising his finger to the southern coastline of the island of New Guinea. "Here." He pointed to a bay a short distance east of Port Moresby. "And here." This time his finger moved to a bay on the coast between Milne Bay and Buna.

Somers frowned. "Japanese subs I could understand. But U-boats? I would have thought Hitler was too busy in the Northern Hemisphere to be lending his mate Tojo any help. Do you have any idea what they're doing?"

"Only wish we did," responded the sergeant. "But it can't be good, you can bet your boots on that."

The silence following the imparting of this news was broken by a blinding flash of lightning followed by a deafening clap of thunder. The lights flickered and failed. A rush of wind blew across the ground sending leaves, branches and odd pieces of rubbish flying. Conversation was impossible for the pounding of hail on the tin roof drowned out all other sound.

Biggles gazed through the window as the fury outside unleashed an onslaught of hail that boded ill for anyone caught outside, with stones the size of large golf balls thundered down. Finally the pounding ceased to be followed by rain so thick it was impossible to see the neighbouring buildings. The downpour eventually ceased leaving a trail of destruction across the base that made the senior RAAF officers shake their heads as they walked outside. Hailstones covered the ground as thickly as if a snowstorm had just passed.

"Power's cut. Probably be local flooding. The boys won't be too happy," muttered Somers as they gazed out across the now icy ground. "They were planning on going into town tonight." Amazingly, blue skies now reigned. Apart from the hail still lying thick on the ground and a few trees lying forlornly across the ground, it was difficult to believe the maelstrom unleashed over the past thirty minutes had actually occurred.

"Excuse me, sir," the Group Captain looked at Mortensen. "I need to check on things. You probably don't need me anyway. If you need some light, there's a hurricane lamp in the cupboard." Nodding to everyone, Somers made a hasty exit towards his Orderly Room.

"How often do you get storms like that?" asked Biggles curiously, still staring in amazement at the sight beyond the window.

"That was a nasty one. We're coming to the end of the storm season, but you never know. They can blow up right out of the blue. At least it's cooled things down. We need to get back to business, gentlemen. Our sergeant here needs to present himself for another briefing at Army Command HQ and I'll be on the receiving end of a bit of a blast if he doesn't make it," said Mortensen ruefully.

….

"Don't worry about the M-G," smiled Edgars, "He laid on a car for me from Eagle Farm1. I sent it back after the driver dropped me here. I could see the storm coming. Bet the car's got a few dints now," he added cheerfully.

Mortensen shook his head sadly at his nephew. "You'll get a little too far up your father's nose than's good for you one day." He looked enquiringly at Somers. "If the phone lines aren't down, I'd better ring my brother-in-law and put him in the picture." He paused and then looked at Biggles and Algy. "You'd never guess it, but Sergeant Edgars's father happens to be Major-General Edgars, one of our most senior Army officers. He's currently based here in Brisbane."

'You could call me the black sheep of the family, Squadron Leader Bigglesworth," Ted shrugged his shoulders. "My brothers have all followed in the M-G's illustrious footsteps. I wanted to live a different life, not a military career, so after school I got myself an apprenticeship as a telephone technician and I have absolutely no regrets. I've loved my job and the places it's taken me – all over Queensland. My only beef has been that I was deemed essential services and not allowed to join up when war came." His tone was unapologetic. He smiled at Mortensen. "I don't really go out of my way to annoy him, you know. We just don't see eye to eye on some things, that's all. Anyway, as you said, sir, we should finish the briefing and I'll see about getting a train. They should still be running."

Mortensen nodded in agreement and turned to Biggles.

"I want you boys to take up roost on one of the Torres Strait Islands. I've got one all picked out and waiting for you. It actually has a landing strip, well what passes for one up there. It was built for an offshoot of the Flying Doctor service. You know about them?"

"That's the lot that fly doctors around your outback. We've read a bit about them," nodded Biggles.

"Well, all you need to know about this lot is that an aerial mission – an offshoot of the Flying Doctors – established a landing strip up in the Strait to provide a service to people living on the many islands up there. They've been relocated and we've taken it over, but it's not common knowledge of course. It's ideally located for a small operational squadron to both make a nuisance of itself to the Japanese in New Guinea and Rabaul areas and to keep an eye out for these U-boats Ted was talking about. They're a bit of a worry. We need to know what they're up to and I really don't have any spare front-line squadrons to spare."

"So how soon do you want us to move?"

"This is Tuesday. I'd like you to be on your way on Friday. We'll talk about the technicalities tomorrow morning. Thought you might like to take a couple of days break before heading north. This storm's put paid to any thoughts of gadding about tonight, I'm afraid, but you might like to take your boys into town tomorrow night. There's not much on offer up north where you'll be, I'm afraid."

"How far is it into Brisbane from here," asked Biggles.

"About 20 miles to the GPO. There are trains that go in from the local station, but that's about all. We're a bit out in the sticks here. But we can probably organise a tender or two to run you all in and bring you home. I'll talk to Jack. Some of his boys might want to go, too. Especially since their plans for tonight will have been canned."

Their conversation continued for a while longer as the army sergeant answered questions about north Queensland, Torres Strait Island and the coastal region of New Guinea. Biggles was impressed with his apparent understanding of aviation and said so.

"As a matter of fact, I have my private pilot's licence," he grinned. "Always fancied buying myself an aeroplane, but could never quite scrape up the money. Maybe when all this is over I might manage it."

At this point, Somers re-entered his office and addressed himself to Edgars.

"Can I put you up for the night, Ted, or do you need to report to your father?"

"I'd better keep moving, Jac…er..sir," he grimaced as he put his hat back on. "I'll leg it to the station and catch a train. Might find myself posted AWOL if I'm not there before Lights Out. Permission to leave, sir?" He saluted smartly, and at his uncle's nod, turned smartly on his heel, exited Station Headquarters and strode towards the gate.

"I think I'd better see if I can ring my esteemed brother-in-law," sighed Mortensen. "He did us a favour by agreeing to Ted's coming to us first, but this storm's put a spanner in the works. It's going to be a couple of hours before he reaches Army HQ."

Somers grinned. "I'll ring his father if you like, sir. The much-revered Major-General fancies me as a future son-in-law, so he won't chew my head off too much. If I can get through that is."

Mortensen led Biggles and Algy outside where Biggles gazed speculatively in the direction of the now departing sergeant. "Would that nephew of yours be involved in your plans for us, Ken?".

" 'Fraid you've got me there, Biggles," smiled Mortensen. "He really is a good bloke, you know. And rank aside, I think he'll fit in with your crowd quite well. Your Air-Commodore Raymond told me all about how he established your squadron. If you moulded that lot into the team you've got now, you won't have any problems with Ted." He paused. "He knows north Queensland better than any other man we've got. And he's getting a real handle on the coastal area of New Guinea too. He's an integral part of my whole plan."

1 Situated on the northern side of the Brisbane River, Eagle Farm was the main airport for Brisbane. Sir Charles Kingsford-Smith landed at Eagle Farm on the conclusion of his successful crossing of the Pacific Ocean from the USA, the first airman to do so. During WWII, the USAF operated from Eagle Farm. For more information, visit . .


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Three**

**666 On the Move**

From the advantage of altitude, Biggles gazed down on the tropical island that would be 666 Squadron's home for the coming months. He had seen similar sights too often to be particularly moved by its beauty. To the west, the tropical sun was beginning its descent towards the sea. In another two hours night would reign. As he gazed northwards he could see the southern coastline of New Guinea looming across the horizon – green and brooding under a canopy of low cloud. On the other side of that mountainous peninsula was a relentlessly advancing enemy army whose goal lay spread out behind Biggles – the vast, sparsely populated continent of Australia; a country about to face its darkest and most desperate time since European settlement. The idyllic peacefulness of the scene gave lie to the harsh reality of the battles that would soon rupture the region.

The past few days had been busy for the British squadron. Biggles and Algy had been extensively briefed by Mortensen during the next day and time was fully occupied discussing the finer details of the planned operation. Mortensen had laid his plans carefully, the RAF Squadron Leader noted with approval. Their operational base would be from a small island, one of nearly 300 in the Torres Strait Island group, stretching south to north from the tip of Cape York almost to the shores of New Guinea and extending from east to west a distance of up to 300kms.1 Their destination, named Foote Island by an early sea captain, was known locally as Handy Cay. Biggles glanced over to the Spitfire flying off his right-hand wing where Algy was also gazing around. His mouth was moving and Biggles presumed his cousin was singing. To his left, Ginger too, was gazing into the distance with seemingly bored indifference. Behind him were the rest of his officers in a mixture of Spitfires and Beaufighters. At the tail of the formation, the reason for their slower than usual progress, was a Douglas DC2 being used to ferry the last of the ground crew and support staff to the new base.

Their RAAF hosts had taken it upon themselves to take Biggles and his men into Brisbane two nights running where they had enjoyed the local entertainment. On Friday morning they had headed for Townsville, 800 miles to the north. Next morning they had departed for Handy Cay. Biggles was pleased with the preparations and felt his own people had acquitted themselves well during their brief stopover. He hummed tunelessly as he led the descent to their new home.

An RAAF Flight Sergeant greeted Biggles as his Spitfire rolled to a gentle stop near some palm trees. He had overseen the outfitting of the base and was ready to hand over to Flight Sergeant Smyth. The man was easy, but courteous, as he welcomed the 666 Squadron commander. They stood together as one by one the aircraft roared overhead and landed and Biggles released a small sigh of relief when the DC2 trundled to a stop.

The base, thanks to the mission which had been based there for some years, was well provided with accommodation and even had a small corrugated iron-roofed hangar nestled amongst a group of coconut palms. Several wooden buildings with long low verandahs covered by overhanging rooflines stood off to one side of the well-tended landing strip. Biggles had been pleasantly surprised to learn that the island had its own generator plant which could supply a limited amount of electricity, certainly enough for the Squadron's basic needs. A generous supply of hurricane lanterns would provide an adequate supply of light for the long tropical evenings. Although located well within Australian sovereign waters, Biggles intended taking no chances and had requested some form of blackout curtains cover the windows of all buildings.

Algy joined Biggles and the Australian NCO and watched as Smyth and Sergeant Ted Edgars walked smartly towards them from the DC2. The two had struck up a warm friendship, to Biggles' private amusement. Edgars was still something of an enigma, given his family background and connections. Good-humoured, with a dry wit, he kept the RAF men greatly amused with his seemingly inexhaustible tales of his years travelling throughout North Queensland installing and maintaining telephone exchanges and connecting phone lines. When anyone tried to draw him on the subject of his Army service and refusal to accept a commission he would merely smile, shrug and change the subject. He had returned to the RAAF Base the afternoon following the hailstorm and had joined both his uncle and his friend in their conference with Biggles and Algy.

"Thanks for ringing the M-G," had been his greeting to Jack Somers. "He was quite docile, all things considered."

"Docile!" Ken Mortensen had snorted. "Ted Edgars, I can think of many names to describe your esteemed father, but 'docile' would never be one of them!"

"Well, measured against his usual performance, I'd still say he was," grinned Edgars. "Mum sends her love, by the way. Wants to know when you're planning on dining with them, next."

"She would," the Air Vice Marshall shook his head. "Probably got some poor unattached female ready to introduce, if I know anything."

His nephew and Somers exchanged glances and both laughed.

"You two might think it's funny." Their mirth had increased. "I'll have you both up on insubordination if you don't shut up," he growled. "Don't know what our guests'll be thinking about service discipline out here with the way you two carry on!"

"Sorry, sir," Edgars schooled his features into a mask of respect, while Somers gazed out the window as he regained his own composure.

"Hmmm. Sometimes I think there's wisdom in keeping family members separated. This damned family of ours is altogether too connected," muttered Mortensen glaring sternly at Somers and Edgars. But the faint twitching of his lips belied his warning.

"I apologise, too, sir," offered Somers soberly. "It's just…"

"Yes, I know," interrupted Mortensen testily. "Just wait till you marry young Cecily, Jack. My sister'll keep _**you**_ on your toes then! Anyway, that's not what we're here for. Biggles and Algy will think we've taken collective leave of our senses, carrying on like this!"

After that, the meeting had focused on the forthcoming mission and Edgars had been an absolute model of decorum, which seemed to draw uneasy glances from his most senior superior officer.

"How much leave have you wangled from the Post Office, Ted?" he had asked at one stage.

"Well, they owe me a month's holiday leave. I haven't taken any since the war broke out. And there's also the agreement about releasing me as required for special assignments," he responded somewhat obscurely.

'Hmm. Well that month will be spent with 666 up on Handy Cay. We need to nail these U-boat reports and you'll work under Bigglesworth's command. I'll clear it with your boss in Cairns this week."

1 For further information on the Torres Strait Islands see wiki/Torres_Strait_Islands#Inner_islands


	5. Chapter 5

Biggles, accompanied by both Smyth and Sergeant Edgars carried out a thorough inspection of the squadron's new home as the RAAF personnel responsible for its preparation prepared to hand over to 666. He noted with approval the communications hut where Smyth's son, Corporal Roy Smyth was already being briefed by his RAAF counterpart. Edgars showed considerable interest in the radio set-up.

"Bit like what I've helped set up for the Coast Watchers," he commented. "Radio itself's not my real area of expertise, of course, but I'm interested in all forms of communication."

Biggles gave the man another glance but the sergeant didn't elaborate, choosing rather to allow the young corporal to explain the equipment that had been set up. He sighed inwardly. Both Somers and Mortensen had assured him that Edgars was outstanding in his chosen career and despite his private and personal rebellion at following a different path in life to that of his military-oriented family, was actually a responsible and well-disciplined soldier who would be an essential part of the mission Biggles had undertaken. So far, the man had shown his new commanding officer the respect he was due, but Biggles couldn't help feeling he was somehow being watched and assessed with final judgement being withheld until further acquaintance warranted the sergeant's final decision. Well, thought Biggles privately, maybe Ted wasn't so very different to the men of 666.

Accommodation was easily allocated amongst the mission's two dormitory-style buildings, and several staff cottages with Biggles and his senior officers being able to choose the former supervisor's home for themselves. The mission's administration building had been adapted to house the Squadron office, such as it would be. Since the squadron was to be highly operational within a few days, Biggles didn't anticipate spending much time there. Because of the squadron's smallness and isolation, and in the interests of operational efficiencies, Biggles had also decided they would have an open Mess.

On the island's eastern coast, a mere 300 yards from the edge of the strip the crystal clear waters of the Strait lapped along a small inlet with a white coral beach. An interesting geological peculiarity had, in ages past, thrown up a wall of rock that ran out from the southern shoreline to the surrounding reef. The reef itself collided with the outthrust jungle-clad northern reach of the inlet, creating a clear, calm lagoon whose waters gently lapped the shoreline. Several of his pilots were standing on the water's edge when Biggles and the two NCOs joined them.

"What do you say, Ted old chap?" asked Bertie. "Looks like our own private swimming pool. I must say, sir," he continued, turning to Biggles, "we all really appreciate this little holiday jaunt you've brought us on. Top notch and all that, if you know what I mean."

"Don't make yourself too comfortable, Bertie," warned his C.O. "Come Monday we'll be operational and very busy. We haven't come all this way to laze around on the beach. There's a war on, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Oh yes, of course, of course," murmured Bertie apologetically. "But, dash it all, old bean. If we're on stand down tomorrow, surely it wouldn't hurt to have a bit of a splash to cool down, and all that."

Sergeant Edgars uttered a noise that sounded like a cross between a cough and a choke and hastily turned aside, noticing as he did so that Smyth was quite unsuccessfully trying to hide a grin and the surrounding pilots were all grinning quite broadly. Biggles looked at his men and at the water, then turned to Edgars.

"Is it safe, do you think? Any chance of sharks or any other horrors lurking in the lagoon?"

"Only thing we'd have to really watch for, sir, would be stingers, and stonefish perhaps. They can still be around till late March. I don't know if you're familiar with them, but you don't want to mess with them. They're deadly and the pain, I believe, is quite extreme. I saw a man after an attack once, years ago. Don't really know if he died from the pain or the venom. But it's not something I ever want to see again. But having said that, this should be okay. The reef would probably act as a barrier, and we're well into March. I don't think sharks'd be a problem. But you could always have a sharpshooter with a .303 on watch on those rocks over there, if you were worried."

A short silence greeted this speech.

"Stingers?" asked Ginger curiously. "What are they?"

"Nasty pieces of work that you usually don't see till they've attacked. Box Jelly Fish, Portugese Man'o'War . They just drift around with the current in the warmer waters. And stonefish like to lie on the bottom of the sea – a trap for the unwary. Sorry to sound like a wet blanket, but you did ask."

"And your own recommendation, Sergeant Edgars?" asked Biggles, looking at the man speculatively. "Can we swim here safely, or not?"

"Probably, sir," was the calm reply. "But I'd strongly recommend everyone keep some form of solid footwear on for protection against stonefish. Old tennis shoes would work. I think we'd be unlucky to strike stingers now, doubly unlucky to see a shark, and highly unlikely to have any salties crawl in."

"Salties?"

"Salt water crocodiles. But they like the river estuaries better than just a straight island like this. Don't think we need worry too much about them."

"Is there anything else we should be looking out for?" asked Biggles with an edge of sarcasm. Edgars' laconic manner of producing titbits of information could be just a little annoying. Biggles still wasn't sure about the man. Maybe they were each trying to get one another's measure. He sighed inwardly – again.

"Just mosquitoes," he paused, "and snakes, of course. But that's about it. Just need to keep our eyes open, keep the mosquito coils burning at night and make sure we all sleep under the mosquito nets and we'll be right, sir."

Biggles looked the man in the eye for a long moment and very slowly smiled.

"Yes, sergeant. I believe we will." He nodded slightly to Edgars and turned to address his officers.

"Okay, chaps. You need to get yourselves sorted out and settle in. The sun's setting so it'll be dark soon. Dinner's at 1930. I want to hold a briefing for everyone at 1830 in the schoolroom. I'll see you all then." Biggles caught Algy's eye and he remained beside his cousin. As Edgars made to move off with Smyth, Biggles touched his shoulder.

"Stay a moment please, Ted."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Four **_**Action at Last**_

Monday morning saw five aircraft of 666 (RAF) taking off across waters of deep liquid fire as dawn splashed spectacular colours across the still waters beneath them. The specific tasks allocated to the squadron had been to locate the U-boats reported in the area and to ascertain the level of Japanese inroads into the northern shores of New Guinea. Biggles hoped to keep knowledge of the squadron's presence from prying enemy eyes for as long as possible. Most of the buildings were well under the shelter of large spreading mango trees but all had been painted with camouflage paint by the RAAF working crew before they had handed over to 666. As well as the existing hangar Biggles had all hands involved in erecting makeshift 'hangars' from palm trees, which provided sufficient protection from any prying eyes passing overhead. As he commented, they wouldn't stand up to close investigation, but should prevent a passing enemy pilot from seeing the Allied aircraft parked on the island and so marking it as a potential target. The airstrip itself was grass, and blended in with the surrounding grass stretching from the beach up past the buildings and to the edge of the thick vegetation running the length of the western half of the small island.

Biggles smiled as he remembered the initial groans when he had informed everyone at Saturday evening's briefing that Sunday, instead of being a stand-down day, would be spent cutting down palm trees and erecting the shelters under the direction of both Flight Sergeant Smyth and Sergeant Edgars. He had sweetened the pill with the promise of a late afternoon dip when the work was completed. As he had expected, his men had set to with a will and at the end of a long day's hard work they had raised shelters that would adequately cover their aircraft. Biggles was under no illusions as to the longevity of the shelters. He privately thought a fairly stiff breeze might knock them over, but Edgars had assured him they'd stand up to any reasonable blow, barring a cyclone, and as the cyclone season was virtually past, all should be well. Biggles doubted it but hoped the man was right. A quick aerial survey had soon assured him of the effectiveness of the temporary camouflage. If Biggles hadn't known the temporary shelters were there, he felt reasonably sure that a cursory survey by enemy pilots would not reveal their presence.

Five pilots were to undertake the day's first sortie. Biggles himself, in one of the Beaufighters with Edgars in the navigator/radio operator's cockpit, was heading over the mountains of the south-eastern New Guinea peninsula to take photos of the Japanese base at Lae, and if possible Rabaul also. Ginger and Tug were accompanying him in Spitfires, flying well above his Beaufighter. Bertie and Tex had each taken a Beaufighter and were ordered to begin a systematic surveillance of the areas where the U-boat sightings had been reported, Bertie being assigned to the area west of Handy Cay and Tex to the east. Biggles had spent some time deliberating over whether to send a Spitfire with each of them but had finally decided against it. Bertie and Tex knew how to look after themselves and he wanted to conserve his petrol stores as well as minimizing the risk of overusing his Spitfires in the early stages of the operation.

Algy had bemoaned the fact that he had, of necessity, been left in charge of the base. But Biggles had pointed out that was his role and responsibility as 2IC and the need to have someone in charge upon whom he could rely, in case Mortensen sent through any urgent commands. His cousin had grimaced and ceased his objections and marched back into the squadron office, obviously unconvinced, as Biggles and the others had walked towards their machines.

The short distance to the southern shores of the island of New Guinea was quickly covered and Biggles continued to climb to ensure he would clear the Owen Stanley Range which now lay directly below him. He did not expect to fly over his target unchallenged but hoped he could use the advantage of surprise to at least make one pass over the township before any enemy aircraft were alerted. Edgars was laconically gazing down on the scene below, having ensured the camera was ready to start rolling. Biggles hoped to get at least one clear camera run across the airstrip before the enemy could send up any interceptors. As the aircraft cleared the mountain range, Biggles spoke to Edgars.

"Ready, Ted? We should get at least one clear run unchallenged and I'm hoping for a second. We'll let Ginger and Tug worry about our tail."

"Righto, sir. Everything's ready."

Nothing further was said. It wasn't necessary. Biggles glanced upwards to the reassuring presence of the two Spitfires. Loosing height and keeping the Beaufighter steady, he flew along the length of the town. Below him there was evidence of initial curiosity turning to consternation as he saw figures gazing upwards and pointing. As he came round for a second run, he saw men running towards a group of Zeros parked by the strip. His eyes narrowed in frustration, but he held the fighter steady as they crossed for a second time with anti-aircraft fire blooming around them; but the initial bursts were erratic and caused Biggles little concern. Screaming down behind him, Ginger and Tug tore across the strip, Browning machine guns spitting chaos and disaster at the unprepared enemy aircraft and their desperate crews. Circling out over the sea, Biggles spoke to Edgars.

"How did you go, Ted?" Do you want another run?"

Biggles could see that some Zeros had managed to take off, whilst Ginger and Tug continued to harass those still on the ground."

"It might be helpful if I could have one more, if you don't mind. Do you think they'll leave us alone long enough to have another shot?"

"Mind? Why should I mind?" returned Biggles cheerfully. "You just concentrate on taking photos and let me worry about the opposition. Tallyho, chaps," he spoke to Ginger and Tug. "We're going round again. This'll be the last time. It could get busy."

So saying, Biggles completed his turn and flew across the township for the third time. This time, however, he had not only the anti-aircraft fire from below, but the Zeros had climbed above him and were beginning their diving run towards the Beaufighter, guns already spitting. Biggles ignored everything except keeping the aircraft steady and left the Zeros to the Spitfire pilots.

As he zoomed up to climb over the forbidding Owen-Stanley Range, the Zeros lost interested in pursuit, having been convincingly deterred by their hostile encounter with Ginger and Tug. Biggles smiled as the Spitfires fell in above him and settled down for the flight home, still aware of the need to keep his eyes open for any sudden enemy attack. Not wanting to reveal the position of their base to any unfriendly eyes that may have been watching, the three fighters followed an indirect course, heading down over the northernmost tip of the Australian continent, Cape York, before swinging back around and arriving on Handy Cay with no further altercations. As they flew, Biggles found himself reflecting on his conversation on Saturday afternoon with the man seated in the second cockpit behind him.

At Biggles' request for him to stay, Edgars had turned towards Biggles and Algy, his brown eyes questioning. Biggles looked the Australian in the eye.

"Ted, I have a great deal of respect for your uncle. We were pals in the last show and have remained friends ever since and I know he wouldn't have arranged to have you working with us if it wasn't for our mutual benefit. But I think we need to get a couple of things clear right from the start so we both know where we stand. Firstly, are you here with a separate brief from your father or anyone else – apart from what Ken and Jack told us back in Brisbane?"

"Can I ask why you would ask that? Sir?" The brown eyes regarded him steadily, the face revealing nothing.

Biggles sighed.

"Only that there was mention of your being involved in Intelligence and you seem to have a great interest in communications. Which would be quite natural given your background and what you've been doing up in New Guinea these past few weeks. Since you're working with us, I need to know that I can count on your being on the Squadron strength 100%, not wondering if I'm going to lose you to a mission that I know nothing about." Biggles' hazel eyes held the brown ones with his own challenge.

It was Edgars' turn to sigh. He turned, hands in pockets and stared out across the sea for a long moment before turning back to Biggles.

"I told the M-G he should have told you and Uncle Ken what he wants me to do up here. The AVM's no fool – nor's Jack. As soon as I met you I knew it'd be stupid to try to pull the wool over your eyes." The sergeant gave a rueful smile. "Guess I'd better come clean, then."

Biggles raised his eyebrows. "It might be helpful if you did."

"I understand your brief is to provide frontline harassment of the Japanese in New Guinea and Rabaul as well as see if you can locate these U-boats that've been reported in the area."

Biggles exchanged glances with Algy and nodded agreement.

"You were there when your uncle gave us our briefing, Ted. You know as much as we do." Biggles paused while he lit a cigarette. "I'm just curious to know if _you_ know more than we do, and if so, how that's going to affect our mission."

"I don't know that I really do know any more than you do," responded the Australian thoughtfully. He was quiet for a few moments, staring out to sea, then he turned back to Biggles and the latter knew that a decision had been reached.

"Look, sir, I think you need to understand a few things about my father. It's no secret that he and I don't see eye to eye on a lot of things but he's a damned fine soldier, probably one of the best this country's produced. He's not happy with the way things are going." Edgars grimaced, "But then, who is?"

He accepted Biggles' offer of a cigarette and paused to light up.

"My father has been less than flattering in his opinion about the way this war's been conducted. The fall of Singapore, the bombing of Darwin, and now Broome, have simply fulfilled what he's been expecting for some time. He wants our boys home to defend their own country." Edgars' eyes clouded over briefly as he gazed past Biggles. "He was one of the first Anzacs to go ashore at Gallipoli. He survived, but none of his mates did. Then he was at the Somme. His younger brother died at Villiers Bretonneaux." Edgars sighed and moved his eyes back to Biggles. "I'm afraid my father has a less than complimentary view on the way those campaigns were conducted."

"Well, he wouldn't be alone in that view, Ted," commented Biggles quietly. "Algy and I were in France last time round as well. So was Ken Mortensen. We were all on the receiving end of some questionable command decisions."

"Well, suffice it to say, that my father has probably allowed his past experiences, together with the past two years, to colour his current outlook."

Biggles was silent for a few minutes as he thought over what the sergeant had said.

"Are you saying that your father doesn't trust us to help you out?"

"Probably not for me to say. We all know Britain's got her hands full right now and couldn't spare anyone to help us anyway. So we've got to look after ourselves. That's why we've turned to the Americans."

"Ted," Biggles finally said slowly. "I wish you'd come straight out and tell me what it is you're expecting me to read between the lines here." He frowned thoughtfully and looked across at the other man. "What exactly is your father expecting from you?"

The sergeant sighed and looked at the cigarette in his hand. "The M-G has a different idea of how the Air Force should be used. He's a soldier and believes the RAAF should be used to support the ground troops, do surveillance, bring in supplies, a bit of strafing, but he doesn't really see them as a separate entity that can mount its own strategic campaigns – or be of much military use outside of supporting the army. He doesn't see you blokes as a separate fighting entity. Consequently, he'd like to have more control over the RAAF. He and Ken are at loggerheads over this. My father can't see why Ken brought you out from England. He – ah – asked me to keep him filled in on what this squadron's really doing up here."

"Are you suggesting that he's given you instructions to spy on us?" Biggles stared in disbelief. He tossed his cigarette to the ground in disgust. "Haven't we all got enough on our hands fighting the enemy without engaging in inter-service espionage?"

"Look, sir. I haven't put it very well. My father probably doesn't see it that way. He wants all the information he can get to plan his next action. I told you I don't agree with him. And I told him he was barking up the wrong tree on this call." There was a pause and the sergeant's eyes began to twinkle reminiscently. "Probably just as well there wasn't anyone else present or I'd most likely be kicking my heels in the guard room right now. We had quite a barney and he and Ken had a shouting match over the phone. Ken made it clear that you blokes were under his command, not the Army's."

Biggles' lips thinned as he stared at Sergeant Edgars.

"Somehow, Ted, I don't think I'd be very happy working under your father's command."

"That's all right. You're under Ken's command, not the M-G's," grinned the Australian irrepressibly. "And Ken's put one over on him, too. I've been seconded to the RAAF, so I report to you in the first instance. Should work well for all of us."

Algy burst out laughing as Biggles shook his head.

"Well, I'm glad we've got that sorted out," he muttered sarcastically. "You had me a bit concerned for a couple of minutes there."

"If you could have seen your face, old son," chortled Algy. "Ted, I think we need to keep a closer eye on you."

Biggles shook his head at his cousin's glee and turned back to the sergeant who gazed at him innocently.

"Is there anything else you wanted to know, sir?"

Biggles looked at the ground for a few moments, struggling to stop his mouth twitching.

"Yes, since you ask, Sergeant. There are a couple of other things. I'm curious to know why you keep refusing to accept a commission. If you feel it's really none of my business, and it probably isn't, feel free to say so. But I do find it intriguing, to say the least, that someone with your obvious ability and your family background has deliberately chosen to remain in the ranks."

Edgars met Biggles' gaze unhesitatingly.

"I'm a hands-on man. Always have been. When I know something has to be done I'd rather do it than tell someone else to do what I can do quite well myself."

"I can understand that," agreed Biggles sympathetically. "It still doesn't answer the question. A lot of commissioned officers feel the same, but they're still operational. We all got out there and did what had to be done, Ted. But someone has to accept responsibility for leadership."

The sergeant's mouth twisted into a grimace.

"I'm not a natural leader of men. Not like the M-G and my brothers. Even my sister's a born leader. She's already been promoted to Flight Officer in the WAAAFs." He grinned. "I'm looking forward to seeing how she and Jack get along when they finally tie the knot. Should be quite interesting." He paused, staring out to sea again, then shrugged and turned back to face Biggles. "I was school captain in my last year. Hated it. I like doing things. I'm good at looking at a problem and seeing how it should be resolved, but I'm best at getting in there and actually doing the job." He gave a slight smile. "Besides, there's enough leaders and commanders in the family. Does the M-G good to have a non-com for a son." With that obscure remark the sergeant pulled out a cigarette case and offered it around.

Biggles looked at him curiously. "Ted, I've never heard you refer to your father as anything other than by his rank, the M-G or 'my father'. I know it's none of my business, but am I allowed to ask what you call him in private, in the family?"

Edgars grinned again. "Trust me, you don't want to know what I call him in private!" Biggles and Algy laughed sympathetically. "Seriously, sir. If I'm not talking to him as an ordinary soldier to one of the most senior ranking officers in the Australian Army, I do call him 'Dad'. I did call him M-G to his face once. A dare from my brothers. Trouble was we were all in uniform, so I probably won't do that again, well not in public anyway."

Biggles stared hard at the man, but the sergeant's face was dead straight as he pulled on his cigarette.

"There's just one more thing I'd like to mention, Ted," began Biggles slowly, watching the man before him. "I couldn't help but note the difference in the way you delivered those briefings in Brisbane earlier this week and the way we had to draw information out of you about the dangers of swimming here. I'd like to think that was just a one-off occurrence."

He held the man's eyes steadily.

Edgars was silent for a while, then he took a final draw on his cigarette before dropping the stub and grinding it into the ground with his heel. He looked at Biggles with an apologetic smile.

"You're quite right, sir. It's a bad habit I've allowed to develop," he gave his most charming grin. "It drives the M-G crazy."

Biggles stared and then shook his head sadly.

"I'm not General Edgars, Ted. You might find it amusing to engage in mind-games with your father but it won't wash with me. I'm here to get a job done and I want to know that we can work together without any more checking one another out to see what we think of each other. Because if we can't…well, Ken's nephew or not, I don't want you."

Edgars looked at Biggles consideringly then shoved his hand out. Biggles, a bit startled, gripped it. Edgars grinned and said, "You're all right. Uncle Ken said I can trust you and I reckon he's right. Sorry if I seem to have been a bit off-hand. I'll do my part, you can count on that." And nodding to the two bemused RAF pilots, he had sauntered off with hands firmly shoved in his pockets.

"I 'reckon' he's got you summed up quite nicely, Biggles," laughed Algy. "You realise, if he'd been a good little boy and followed the family tradition in one of the regular services as his papa wanted, he'd probably outrank you by now, old boy, don't you?"

Biggles, his lips twitching, had stood staring after the departing Australian. "Well, he'll probably be more at home with our chaps than what he anticipates," he laughed ruefully. "Algy, old son, I'll be darned glad to be hitting the skies on Monday. I suspect I'll come out second best with that bloke most times I take him on – and will probably never be able to charge him with insubordination either." The two cousins had exchanged grins and headed back towards their quarters.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Five – **_**Where is Bertie?**_

Biggles brought the Beaufighter in for a smooth landing, closely followed by his Spitfire escort. He taxied slowly under the shelter then climbed out and turned to watch the other aircraft roll to a stop nearby.

"I'd better see about getting these developed," said Edgars as he removed the camera from his navigator's bubble. Biggles nodded approval and turned to await the arrival of Ginger and Tug. As they walked towards the mess, Algy and the others emerged and stood on the verandah to greet them.

'Any sign of Bertie and Tex?" asked Biggles as he greeted his cousin.

"Not yet. We thought you might have been them, at first. How long did you expect them to be out?"

"About two hours," as Biggles spoke, they could hear the sound of an approaching aircraft. Both men turned to watch as the Beaufighter swept low across the water and touched down on the grass strip. "Tex," murmured Biggles as the aircraft slowed and taxied towards the palm frond shelters, and together he and Algy walked down to meet the pilot.

Tex was removing his helmet as Biggles met him.

"How did you go?" The latter asked.

Tex grimaced. "Apart from the heat, not too bad. I think there's a bit more Japanese build-up around the New Britain area. I got some photos and then a couple of Zeroes must have thought I was getting too nosey and I played with them for a bit before flying down over the mainland for a while. They lost interest and I came home."

A glance at Tex's Beaufighter revealed the extent of the 'interest' the enemy fighters had taken. There were several holes, but none that appeared serious. Flight Sergeant Smyth had his crew fussing over it as the pilots walked away.

"Where's Bertie?" asked Tex, glancing around. "I thought he'd be back before me."

"He might have found some Zeroes of his own to play with," replied Biggles lightly, but his eyes searched the sky to the west. Tex took his camera with its precious film to the hut where Edgars was finishing the developing of the earlier films and remained to assist in the processing of his efforts.

An hour passed. Edgars and Tex returned with their photos for Biggles who was talking with Algy and Ginger in what had been the Mission superintendant's office and was now serving as the CO's office. Everyone was feeling the effects of the oppressive heat. Biggles had noted that the RAAF ground crew personnel had shown a tendency to shed their uniform shirts and work in singlets or even bare-chested. This did not meet with his immediate approval, but after a discussion with their senior NCO he had chosen to ignore it temporarily. He had, perhaps wisely, decided to discuss the matter with Ted Edgars before pursuing the issue. He turned from the window to greet the newcomers as Tex knocked on the open door.

"Got some interesting shots for you," Edgars spread the still damp reconnaissance photos on the desk. Biggles smiled with satisfaction as his experienced eyes quickly identified the tell-tale signs of shipping, equipment storage and build up. He jabbed a finger at a strategic location and grinned at his men.

"That's our next target, chaps. I think we can plan a quick bombing run tonight."

The morning wore on, with no sign of Bertie. The squadron's concern became more evident as the pilots gathered in small groups, staring towards the western sky. By late morning Biggles knew that Bertie had encountered unexpected difficulties or he would have returned, for the scope of the area Biggles had requested him to investigate was not large enough to have taken so long. Roy had received no signals. Bertie had been gone five hours, three longer than anticipated. As the winds weren't particularly strong, Biggles had reasoned that Bertie had a five to six hour flying range, far more than was necessary for his reconnaissance mission.

"He's down somewhere," announced Algy grimly as they stood on the verandah of the office building, sheltering from the noonday heat of the tropical sun. He looked at Biggles enquiringly. The latter's mouth was pulled into a thin line as he, too stared westwards.

"We'll have to look for him," decided Biggles. "I'll take Ginger and go. We'll grab some sandwiches to take with us." Algy had started to protest but Biggles held up a hand. "I need you here. Roy's radioed the information we've got from those photos this morning back to Townsville. I advised that we'll do a bombing run first thing tomorrow morning, but they might have other orders." Both men knew that Ken Mortensen was relocating his command base to the northern Queensland town and that Jack Somers' group was also coming north. Biggles had reasoned that he would be given a relatively free hand until the RAAF command was formally established but was also aware that the Air Vice Marshall might have other targets in mind for his newest squadron.

"All the more reason for you to stay and let me go with Ginger," reasoned Algy. "If Ken gets in touch he'll want to talk to you, not me."

"Well, he'll just have to talk to you if I'm not here," responded Biggles tersely. "Don't be a difficult fellow, Algy. You know how I do things."

"Yes," retorted Algy grimly. "Sometimes you need to let someone else 'do things', too. Where would this squadron be if you didn't come back?"

Biggles' lips thinned momentarily but then he smiled. "Well, you'd just have to take over, wouldn't you," he said lightly, holding up a hand to forestall his cousin's next barrage. "Till that happens, I'm still the CO and last time I looked, that means I'm the one giving the orders." The two locked eyes and Algy shrugged.

"When do you plan on leaving?"

"As soon as Ginger can grab a packet of sandwiches for each of us. I'll head west over the area Bertie should have been covering and see what we can find."

"And what do you want me to do if you and Ginger don't come back?" Algy made little effort to keep the faint sarcasm from his voice.

Biggles looked at him and sighed. "You are making life difficult today, old boy, aren't you?" He turned on his heel and made as if to walk away, paused and looked over his shoulder, "If," Biggles placed heavy emphasis on the word, "if we're not back in three hours, try to contact Ken Mortensen, tell him the situation. Tell him you're in temporary command and that you will be continuing operations as planned." He met his cousin's eyes for a brief moment longer and then continued towards the Mess to seek out Ginger.


	8. Chapter 8

**Ginger Sees Some Action**

Back on the beach Ginger, along with the two other members of the repair crew, had watched the short aerial encounter between Bertie and the Japanese fighter, watching with dismay as Bertie's Beaufort met its end and its pilot baled out. Dropping his tools, Ginger ran towards the remaining Beaufighter with a view to ascertaining Bertie's welfare. To his dismay he pulled up short and swore loudly and bitterly as he realised his machine's wheels were already covered by the waters of the incoming tide, and had begun to settle into the sand. How they could have been unaware of such a possibility he could not imagine and he did not look forward to what Biggles would have to say when he returned. He realised that Bertie had somehow been able to run his original machine to a position just above the high tide mark and they had consistently landed at low tide, thus giving little or no thought to being stranded by such an eventuality as had now occurred. Smyth and the young RAAF mechanic, a Corporal Williams, also downed tools and ran to see if they could help Ginger, but the weight of the machine and the incoming water defeated them.

"I'm sorry, sir," apologised Smyth. "I should have kept an eye on the water."

"It's not your fault, Flight," acknowledged Ginger miserably. "If anyone's to blame it's me for parking the machine where I did. Hark," he spun around and squinted into the southern sky. "Here comes the CO now. Is there going to be enough firm dry sand for him to land?"

A quick survey of the diminished beach revealed the truth and Ginger ran along the sand, waving his arms above his head frantically. Biggles, well experienced in the vagaries of nature, soon realised what had happened and turned out to sea where he circled for a few minutes before zooming low over the party on the beach. A small bundle soon dropped to the ground and Ginger ran to retrieve it. A note, weighted by Biggles' cigarette case, was encased in his handkerchief which had been knotted to ensure nothing fluttered free.

"Stay where you are. I'll come back. B."

They watched as Biggles' aircraft headed north and began losing height with the obvious intention of landing somewhere out of Ginger's line of sight, for the northern coastline immediately in front of the watchers on the beach swung sharply to the west beyond a high headland which obscured their view. As experienced airmen, they all realised that Biggles was seeking to land. Ginger exhaled a relieved breath when he heard the engine die and relative quiet descended again. Telling the mechanics to remain working on the damaged machine, he ran towards the headland. He had barely begun to climb it when Biggles and Tom appeared over the top and climbed down to meet him.

"I hope you parked well above the tide mark!" exclaimed Ginger by way of greeting.

"I should thundering well hope so," retorted Biggles smartly. "How bad is it?" Never being one to cry over spilt milk, Biggles was not about to berate Ginger for an oversight that he felt he, himself, should have foreseen when he had landed earlier. Ginger quickly filled him in as they walked back along the beach.

"Where have you parked yourself, anyway?" the younger man asked curiously.

"There's a nice little cove around the corner with a nice stretch of sand and pebbles that's broader than the one we're on. Where's Bertie?" Biggles glanced upwards. "I couldn't see him when we were coming back."

"In the drink somewhere to the north. We saw him jump and that's when I found I couldn't move my machine. I'm sorry, I should have…"

"All right, no use crying about it," interrupted Biggles curtly. "Let's see what can be done." By this time they had reached Smyth, and Bertie's original Beaufighter. A quick look soon confirmed that Ginger's machine would not be able to be moved until the tide had receded.

"How long till the tide turns?" Biggles asked Tom.

"Any time now," replied the local man. "I'll go back to my place and get a couple of shovels and some help. We'll dig it out pretty smart."

"Thanks. And ask Sergeant Edgars how long he's going to be," requested Biggles. The latter was answered before Tom could acknowledge the request, for the Sergeant and Les Barnes emerged from the trees and came trotting down the dunes.

"What are you going to do about Bertie?" asked Ginger anxiously as they watched the others approaching.

"I want you to take my machine and see if you can find him. But take Ted Edgars with you as well in case someone needs to go down to help him."

Biggles briefly explained the situation and ordered Ginger and Ted off immediately, before turning his attention to Smyth and the two aircraft now stranded on the beach.

"At this rate, I might as well move my base here," he observed drily as he watched his young protégé and Edgars trotting along the beach towards the headland. "Okay, Flight, fill me in," he requested turning to Smyth as Ginger and Ted vanished from sight.

Ginger wasted no time in heading towards the area where he had seen Bertie bale out and fifteen minutes after taking off he saw the shrouds of the abandoned parachute drifting south-westwards on the fast flowing tide. He gazed around, wondering how far it might have drifted in the time that had elapsed and noted several small islets stretching out below him to the north.

"Keep your eyes open for him," he requested needlessly, for Edgars was already gazing steadily downwards as Ginger banked the aircraft to improve their view of the waters below.

"Listen mate," came the quiet voice from the rear cockpit after a few minutes, "I think the brolly has drifted a fair distance and it would have come from the north east, judging by the flow of the water. There's a small island on the horizon over there. D'ya reckon it's worth checking it out?"

Ginger agreed and, applying the rudder, turned his aircraft towards the island Edgars had indicated. He banked and brought the fighter down to a height not much above the tree line and, ordering the sergeant to keep his eyes peeled, concentrated on flying as slowly over the small shoreline as he dared without risking a stall. Ginger thought it looked nothing at all like a tropical paradise, with the surly mangroves lining each end of the small cove which seemed to be littered with logs and debris on some rocks. Ginger caught his breath. Surely the debris couldn't be….?

"Go round again," the sergeant's urgent voice interrupted Ginger's thoughts. "I think I saw clothes lying on those rocks."

"So did I chum," murmured the pilot as he banked wide out to sea and slowly flew the length of the cove again. This time both men clearly identified the clothing spread across the rocks. "It has to be Bertie's!" exclaimed Ginger. "I don't understand why he hasn't waved to us to let us know he's okay, though," he added with concern.

"Could be that he's up a tree somewhere. I think some of those logs down there might be crocs, mate," drawled the sergeant. As if in confirmation of the sergeant's comment, as Ginger banked and came over again, one of the "logs" moved and Ginger saw the reptile lift its head and charge towards one of the trees bordering the shoreline.

"I think there's someone in that tree," called Edgars urgently. "Did you see him wave?"

"No," retorted Ginger shortly. "I saw that horror on the beach move and I nearly flew into the trees! I'm watching where I'm flying," he added. "What on earth are we going to do? You can't jump down into that. You'd never get past those crocs to help Bertie in time." Ginger's voice reflected his desperation. More than ever he needed Biggles' cool head and sharp brain, but his own brain was whirling. He had no idea how long Bertie had been trapped in the tree, nor whether he'd been injured, but he knew Bertie's life was at stake. What would Biggles do? As he turned away out to sea and began circling slowly he heard the rat-a-tat of machine gun fire behind and above him and swore creatively and fluently under his breath, whilst at some level being rather glad the most influential figure in his life was not present to hear him. Pulling the stick back into his thigh and hitting his rudder pedal, he skidded erratically and turned to face his attacker.

"Where do these infernal Zeros keep coming from?" he muttered savagely as he sought both to evade the enemy fire and climb to a sufficient height to gain some advantage before opening fire himself. All the frustrations of the past few hours suddenly boiled over into red hot anger and Ginger flew at the Japanese fighter with a singular fury, holding the firing button down until he saw his bullets raking through his opponent's fuselage, zooming high at the last moment to avoid collision.

"You got him!" exclaimed Edgars jubilantly. Bank around, Ginger looked down dispassionately as he watched the Zero jerk, roll over and plummet downwards. His eyes widened with increasing concern as he realised its trajectory was aimed straight towards the small island beneath them. The Japanese fighter hit the little beach nose first and erupted into flames.

"You keep an eye on the sky for any more of these rotten little blighters," Ginger ordered Ted as he began losing height. "I'm going to see if I can see how Bertie is."

Suiting his action to his words, Ginger dropped down and flew along the edge of the shoreline. All sign of the crocodiles had gone. So had Bertie's clothes as the Zero had crashed on top of the rocks where he had placed them to dry. But, now that he knew precisely where to look, Ginger clearly saw his friend perched in his tree. Waggling his wings to let Bertie know he'd been seen, Ginger turned away.

"Now would be the perfect opportunity to get him, if I could only figure out how to do it," muttered Ginger.

"Why not let me go down? Now the crocs are gone, I'd be okay and I can take the first aid kit in case Bertie's a bit bruised and battered," offered Edgars.

"Then there'd be two of you to rescue," pointed out Ginger. "And there's no iron-clad guarantee you'd land on the beach anyway. No. Much and all as I hate leaving him, I'm going to have to go back and let Biggles sort it out. You just make sure no more Zeros get a bead on us!"

Ginger literally tore back across the water and was soon taxiing across the cove from which he'd taken off earlier. He wasn't surprised to see Biggles coming across the headland to greet him as he climbed down from the cockpit.

"Get a bit hot out there?" Biggles nodded towards the holes in the Beaufighter's wing. "Did you find Bertie?"

"Yes to both questions," replied Ginger and quickly filled Biggles in on the events of the past half hour. Biggles' relief at knowing Bertie was safe was tempered by the danger his Flight Commander still faced.

"You did the right thing, laddie," affirmed Biggles as he took in Ginger's distress. "But we'll have to get out there and get him before those brutes recover from their fright. Let's get back to the others. Smyth says Bertie's machine's right, now. We've run the engines and they're both giving full revs. And Les Barnes and Tom have got a team of blokes digging your machine out of the sand as we speak. We should be about ready to try to move it up the beach any time."

By the time Biggles had finished talking they had arrived back at their original beach where Tom's people, under Smyth's direction, had almost completed moving Ginger's Beaufighter onto firmer sand. Biggles quickly explained Bertie's situation and turned to Barnes and Tom.

"Do you happen to have any sort of boat we could borrow to get out there and grab Bertie? And a couple of rifles if you've got any to spare. We've got our service automatics, but I'd feel happier with a rifle as well."

The mission superintendent was happy to oblige with the rifles and Tom offered to take Biggles and Ted over to the island in an outboard, whilst Ginger was ordered to take his own machine up to provide cover for the operation.

"And keep your eyes skinned for these wretched enemy aircraft. We can't afford to be caught napping again," he added. "Everyone seems to have been blindsided by this mob and it's about time we stopped offering them a sitting duck every time they come over. That goes for you as well, Flight Sergeant," Biggles turned to the two mechanics. "Keep under cover and keep your eyes skinned."

In short order, Biggles and Ted were seated in the small outboard motor boat that Tom and his friends had brought down from its resting place among the trees and Ginger had taken off and was headed back to Bertie's island. When he circled over the small piece of land, he saw Bertie standing on the shore, waving his hand. He quickly scribbled a noted, advising that Biggles was bringing help, and having nothing else at hand to use as a weight, he wrapped the note around his service pistol and wrapped this in his handkerchief, knotting it carefully to secure its contents. Flying carefully over the beach he dropped the bundle and turned out to sea where he had the satisfaction of watching Bertie collect it, read the note and wave to him. Feeling satisfied with his efforts, Ginger started climbing to a height that would provide sufficient vision and before long he could see the small boat cutting across the clear waters towards the island.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Six – **_**What Happened to Bertie**_

When Bertie left Handy Cay, he had dipped his wings in farewell to his commanding officer and turned westwards. As he flew he admired the early morning light across the islands of the Strait but soon settled into his allotted task of seeking the reported U-boats. He had decided to investigate the southern coastline of New Guinea on his westward leg and then come back along the Arnhem Land coast and check the Northern Territory side of the Gulf of Carpentaria for some distance south, fly eastwards across the gulf to the Queensland coast of the Gulf along Cape York Peninsula, turn north and fly back to their base. Although Biggles had suggested a flight time allocation of two hours, Bertie had privately decided to stretch this to three hours, to take advantage of the early hours of the day before the sun's heat became too intense. That this might be seen as taking liberty with his commanding officer's orders was something Bertie chose not to consider. He preferred to think of his choice as merely his personal interpretation of the order. That he might have to give an account to Biggles had not seemed very likely when Bertie made his decision.

He had been flying for over an hour and was becoming rather bored when the rat-tat-tat of machine guns made him start. In his reflector he saw a lone Zero bearing down on his tail, a line of tracer dancing from its wings towards the Beaufighter. With the instinctive speed of a fighter pilot, which is of necessity faster than actual thought, Bertie skidded the machine across the sky, hurling it around in its own length to face the Japanese fighter head on. The outcome of the encounter was never in doubt and the broken Zero was soon hurtling downwards where it hit the sea in a large plume of spray and promptly vanished beneath the surface.

"That'll teach you, you little blighter!" he muttered viciously as his eyes scanned the skies for any more. "Well, it'll teach me to keep my eyes open even if I am over Australian waters," he admonished himself. "The heat must be making me careless. All the same, I wonder where he came from?"

As Bertie settled back into his original course, his port engine began to run rough, coughed and stopped. Bertie was not too perturbed as he was confident of returning safely with his good engine so he continued towards the Arnhem Land coastline, which was now filling his horizon. To his annoyance his starboard engine repeated the performance of its twin on the port side and also fell silent. Bertie surveyed the coastline before him and decided he would have to attempt to land on the length of white beach he could see. Landing without power did not particularly alarm him, but the thought of putting his wheels into soft, yielding sand, or hitting an unseen obstacle caused him no small amount of concern. It was with a considerable sigh of relief that he felt the wheels roll to a gentle stop on firm sand as he applied the brakes. Wiping the perspiration from his brow, he exhaled slowly and went limp momentarily.

"That was a bit more fun than I was looking for, by Jove," he said to no one in particular, and removing his helmet climbed down on to the sand.

"Do you have permission to land your aeroplane here?" asked a voice behind him, causing Bertie to jump. He could have sworn the beach was deserted. He turned and surveyed his questioner. An Aboriginal man, wearing khaki shorts and shirt, dusty boots with khaki socks rolled down over their tops, and a disreputable bush hat shading his face, stood facing him.

"Well, old fruit, I didn't have time to ask, if you know what I mean," responded Bertie lightly, taking stock of the man confronting him. "I'm Bertie Lissie. Flying with your Air Force, you know. May I ask whom I have the pleasure of addressing?"

The man smiled slowly and held out his hand, which Bertie shook warmly.

"Name's Tom. At least that's what the white fellas call me. They can't get their tongues around my real name." A deep chuckle seemed to rumble up from the man's chest. "What's wrong with your plane?"

"Wish I knew, old bean. Wish I knew. It's not too healthy at the moment, and I'm not the brightest boy with a spanner, so I'm dashed if I know what to do with it. I don't suppose you're handy with an aeroplane engine are you?"

"Not flamin' likely," laughed Tom. "I heard you coming and watched from the trees. Can't be too careful these days. Didn't know if you might be one of those Japanese fellas flying one of our planes. Or one of the other white blokes we've seen coming ashore along the coast."

Bertie surveyed the man through his monocle.

"You're beginning to interest me, Tom," he murmured. "What other white blokes are you talking about?"

The man stared at Bertie thoughtfully and then turned towards the Beaufighter.

"What you gonna do about your plane?"

"That, old boy, is the question, isn't it?" replied Bertie dolefully. "My chief'll be looking for me when I don't get back and he's not going to be too thrilled if I've broken one of his aeroplanes."

"How long before you think he'll come looking?"

Bertie screwed his face as he thought about an answer.

"No real idea, at all. Not for a few more hours I shouldn't think."

"Good. You come with me to my family and we'll talk. When we hear aeroplane again, we'll come back."

Bertie would have preferred to stay near the stranded Beaufighter, but if the man had information about others coming ashore in the area, he wanted to know about it and since Tom didn't seem inclined to talk on the beach, Bertie smiled and agreed to follow. The man was silent as he led the way across a small dune and into the trees. After a twenty minute walk, they emerged from the bush into a clearing where timber houses raised on round wooden stumps stood clustered around a wide green stretch of thick grass.

"This is my home," Tom stood back and ushered Bertie up a well-trodden dirt path between the thick deep green grass to a flight of steps that led straight up to a wide verandah-encircled house sheltering under a wide tin roof. A group of Aboriginal people, sitting on the verandah, studied Bertie solemnly as Tom introduced him in a tongue totally foreign to the airman. One dignified elderly bearded man spoke at length to Tom and then nodded at the Englishman.

"My grandfather says you are welcome. You fight in the skies to keep the enemies away."

"Yes, well something like that," murmured Bertie in agreement. "I say, Tom, old chap. What about these other white blokes you mentioned earlier. Where have you seen them? Have you spoken to them? Is their camp far from here?"

Tom spoke again with his grandfather while the others listened quietly then he turned to Bertie and smiled.

"They are further down the coast from here. They came by night two weeks ago. They think we don't know they're there, but we've been watching. They speak a language I don't know."

Bertie looked at Tom consideringly.

"Tom, old chap, you speak English as well as I do. Where did you learn, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Went to Boarding School over in Queensland. The local mission superintendent and his wife sort of 'adopted' me, but apart from sending me away to school, I have lived here most of my life." The dark eyes held Bertie's. "This is my country. I belong here."

Bertie nodded. He wondered what Tom and his people thought of him. Two cultures colliding, he thought privately; an incredibly ancient civilisation being forced to come to terms with modern society and the way in which it waged war. He sighed.

"Of course you do," he said sincerely. "And we're here to help you protect it, old boy." As he looked around the circle of dark faces he thought he saw signs of amusement pass around the group. The ancient grandfather spoke again to Tom who nodded respectfully and turned to Bertie.

"My grandfather says to thank you. We will talk with you about the foreign men who've set up camp. I believe they're Germans, from listening to their talk. I don't understand that tongue, but I think I recognise it. It was taught at my school, but I wasn't interested in learning it. My cousin saw them come ashore by small boats from a larger boat. From his description I think it was a submarine. An enemy submarine." The speaker fell silent and Bertie was conscious of being the focus of attention. He thought furiously. What would Biggles do in this situation? It seemed too good an opportunity to let pass.

"How far away is this camp, old top?" he finally asked. He thought a faint smile crossed his new friend's face.

"About an hour's walk to the south." He looked at Bertie thoughtfully. "Maybe an hour and a half. I think you're more used to flying than walking." There was no mistaking the smile this time.

"Well, what are we sitting around waiting for? Let's get mobile," said Bertie brightly. "The sooner we leave, the sooner we'll get back. If you know what I mean." Tom laughed and the other men joined in.

"There's no hurry. You white fellas are always rushing off. We'll get some food together and then I'll take you."

Bertie found his patience stretched as he waited with the group, squatting on the verandah out of the mid-day sun. He wanted to see the mysterious other "white" settlement for himself. He was sure Biggles or one of the others would turn up, looking for him, later in the afternoon and he thought how pleasing it would be to have some positive information to pass on. The mission superintendent had wandered over at one stage and introduced himself to Bertie. He regretfully advised that they were out of radio contact with the outside world following a cyclone which had passed through two weeks earlier. Whilst it hadn't damaged many buildings, it had destroyed their communications shed and one of the workers had set out on the long drive to Darwin (over dirt tracks) to seek the necessary parts to repair it. Two of the local men had set out in canoes to seek help but nothing had been heard of them. Bertie wondered privately at the canoeists' chances of success given the opposition he had encountered that morning. Canoeists, he thought, would be literally sitting ducks for any enemy aircraft. He also thought, knowing the devastation caused from the air raids, that it might be difficult for the man who'd been dispatched to Darwin to be successful in acquiring the necessary spare parts to repair the station's communications.

Finally a package of food and water was brought out and Tom turned to Bertie.

'Right-oh. We'll go now." And suiting his action to his words he headed off with Bertie in tow. The English pilot was to be extremely thankful for Tom's insistence on waiting for provisions as it soon became evident that the path before them was not exactly a walk in the park. Just over an hour's weary trudging brought them to the edge of the trees and Tom pulled Bertie back behind cover.

"About five minutes' walk that way," Tom tipped his head to the south-east. "We need to be quiet."

"That's easy for you, my old fruit," muttered Bertie wearily. He had become increasingly aware of how silently his new friend moved through the bush, whereas Bertie seemed to be forever stepping on fallen twigs and brushing against overhanging branches, disturbing the wildlife. Tom flashed him a wide grin.

"Better eat a bit more. Don't want to be moving once we're in position."

Recognising the wisdom in this, Bertie eagerly consumed the rest of his surprisingly tasty rations. Tom put the wrappings in his shoulder pack and the two moved forward again, Bertie taking great pains to move as silently as he could, as they bent double to keep below the line of dunes to their left. Tom stopped and fell to the ground in one fluid movement, his hand indicating that Bertie should follow suit.

The sight before him, made Bertie blink. He felt a sensation of great indignation rising within him as he stared down at the small inlet. A short wooden jetty ran from the sandy shore out into the deeper water. Moored across the end of this structure was a motor launch, on which lounged two men with rifles. Well above the tide mark, nestled amongst some trees, a group of three small huts stood, with several tents behind them. Men were resting against the trees, relaxing in the shade of the over-hanging branches. But of even greater concern was the sight of a submarine resting on top of the clear blue waters, a little distance from the shore. On its side was the designation U-205.

"You seen enough?" Tom whispered in Bertie's ear.

"Damn right I have," muttered Bertie fiercely. "Let's get out of here, Tom." Silently the two retreated. Bertie thought the hike back would never end but finally they emerged from some trees into the clearing where the settlement stood. Just then they heard the sound of an approaching aircraft.

"Beaufighter, by Jove," cried Bertie. "Let's go see who the big chief's sent after me."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Seven – **_**Biggles Gets Cracking**_

Biggles and Ginger walked towards the small sand dune separating the beach from the tree-line they could see a short distance in front of them. As they topped the dune, Bertie burst from the trees with an aboriginal man on his heels.

"What ho, old top! You found me!" exclaimed Bertie as the two groups met. "Here, let me introduce you to Tom. We've got a lot to tell you, old bean. Just you hold on to your hat because you aren't going to believe what I've got to say. No, by jove, not half you aren't!"

"Bertie," sighed Biggles with a touch of exasperation, "I'm pleased that you're all right. But slow down and start at the beginning." Biggles held his hand out and shook Tom's hand as Bertie introduced them. "Pleased to meet you. Thanks for looking after our friend," he smiled.

"No trouble," smiled Tom in return. He nodded towards Bertie's aircraft. "You gonna be able to fix it for him? We've got some stuff to tell you first."

If Biggles felt any surprise at the man's quiet air of authority, he hid it well.

"Suppose you give us the gen on what happened to you, Bertie. Then we'll take a closer look at your Beau before deciding what to do. I need to get back to base or Algy'll be out looking next. You know what he's like. He'll have the whole squadron on alert if we're not back when he thinks we should be."

They stood under the shade of the trees as Bertie told of his adventures that morning.

"So you see, old boy, Tom and I were on our way back to tell the other chaps that these other white fellas down the coast are NOT the good guys, if you know what I mean, when we heard you jolly well tootling in and so we thought we'd come and meet you. So here we all are. Jolly good show, if you ask me anything," Bertie finally wound down. "So, old warrior, you're here now. What do you want to do?" he added into the silence that had greeted his tale.

Biggles looked at Tom thoughtfully.

"What's the situation here? Are your people in a position to round anyone up who escapes if we bomb this base?"

"No worries about that, mate," laughed Tom. "We can round them up all right, but we might have a bit of bother keeping them till we can hand them over. We're totally cut off. Can't get any messages out and not getting any in right now. I don't think the Government's gonna be too bothered about us with everything else that's goin' on right now."

"Well, I can do something about the communications issue," replied Biggles. "I want to have a look at this submarine you're talking about. Bertie, you and Ginger have a dekko at your engines and see if you can find the problem. Tom, can you take me back to the place you're talking about?"

"Yep, no worries," he responded. "Just need to let the others know what's goin' on. Better introduce you two new blokes, too."

The local formalities having been observed, and having also been introduced to the mission superintendent, a Rev Les Barnes, Biggles decided to dispatch Bertie back to Handy Cay to bring Algy up to speed on events while Ginger was ordered to see what could be done about the engines on the grounded Beaufighter. Biggles instructed Bertie to return with one of Smyth's men to take over from Ginger and another Beaufighter to provide enough seats for the pilots to all return to base.

"Tell Algy, he's to let Ken Mortensen know what's going on immediately and that I'll be in touch as soon as I get back. Oh, and tell Algy he's to stay on Handy Cay, in command, till I return. He can send Ferocity back with the other Beau," ordered Biggles.

"Algy won't be too happy with that, old boy. He'll think you're grounding him," objected Bertie.

"Algy can think what he likes," retorted Biggles. "They're my orders. Your job is to relay them. Now get cracking while we've still got enough daylight left to do everything."

Bertie and Ginger exchanged amused glances which Biggles pretended not to see. He and Tom departed towards the south and Bertie and Ginger walked back to the beach, accompanied by Barnes and a teenage boy whose smile at seeing the aircraft so close threatened to break his face.

As Biggles and Tom headed south, keeping under the cover of the trees, they heard the sound of Bertie departing in the serviceable Beaufighter. Biggles was less than happy at the present situation as he didn't like having so many loose ends left for others to tidy up. Still, he reflected, Algy would look after his end the way Biggles himself would. At least, as long as he chose to obey Biggles' orders and remain on the island in command, he could be relied on to do things in a manner that would meet Biggles' approval. Unfortunately, Biggles was not completely confident that his cousin would remain on Handy Cay, despite receiving orders to do so. Sometimes, he thought, Algy showed just too much initiative. He smiled at his thoughts. He knew exactly how lucky he was to have a 2 I-C who could anticipate his every move and upon whom he could rely totally. Biggles wouldn't have it any other way.

When Tom indicated they had arrived, he dropped to the ground and together they worked their way forward until Biggles was gazing down at the sight Bertie had seen some hours earlier. His eyes narrowed as he took in the activity. The small launch that Bertie had earlier noted tied to the end of the jetty was coming back from the U-boat. Along the jetty was a line of men, obviously sailors by their uniforms. Biggles' lips tightened as he realised the submarine was being prepared for departure. He looked at his watch. He could not expect any aircraft back from Handy Cay for at least another hour and he didn't like the chances of the submarine still being there by then, not that he could do much about it even then. He would need bombs which meant another return trip of at least two hours. In three hours the tropical night would have well and truly fallen. He knew he had been pushing it with his plans to get everyone back to the island base by nightfall as it was, even if that had meant leaving Bertie's Beaufighter on the beach for the night. Now he had the additional concern of the possibility of the stranded fighter being seen by the crew of the passing submarine if it remained unsubmerged, for tonight would be a full moon.

"Let's go," he murmured to Tom and the two headed silently back towards the settlement. There was little talking on the return trip. They were moving too quickly for easy conversation and Biggles needed time to think and formulate possible plans. An hour later, as they were nearing the settlement, the sound of rapidly approaching aero engines shattered the late afternoon silence. Biggles looked towards the coast and broke into a run.

"They're Zeros!" he shouted, running flat out.

As he and Tom broke from the trees three Zeroes screamed across the beach, guns chattering as their deadly hail of bullets kicked up sand and struck the stranded Beaufighter. Ginger, Barnes and the teenage boy were bent double, running flat out for the cover of the trees. They had nearly reached them when the boy stumbled and fell.

Ginger and Barnes hauled him back to his feet and half carried, half dragged the boy across the sand between them. Tom had run forward and, scooping the injured teenager up in his arms, ran back towards the trees as the bullets kicked up the sand around him. The noise of aircraft increased further as two Beaufighters screamed down towards the attackers who were forced to leave their helpless prey on the beach and defend themselves. The battle was fast and furious and it was not long before the three Japanese fighters pulled out of the fray and screamed off towards the north-west. One Beaufighter landed smoothly on the beach while the other continued circling above.

While the others tended to the boy, Biggles ran down to meet the pilot. He was not completely surprised when Algy stepped down and removed his helmet.

"I thought I gave you orders to remain in charge."

"Hold on, Biggles. I've an important message from Ken."

"Which you could have sent back with Bertie," Biggles pointed out reasonably, raising an enquiring eyebrow.

"Well, Bertie's been on the go since early morning and, as Acting CO, I grounded him and left him in command. He can do with the rest."

The two stared at one another. Then Biggles sighed.

"You know, as I've said before, it'd be a lot more helpful if you'd at least pretend to take my orders seriously. I have to make some sort of show with the others."

"I do take your orders seriously, Biggles, old chap. You know that. It's all a matter of interpretation," grinned Algy. "Do you want to put me on report? I could stand guard duty down by the lagoon for the next few days."

Biggles laughed and shook his head.

"What did Ken have to say that was important enough to have you fly out yourself?"

"He wants this U-boat base completely destroyed. Top priority. Higher than the planned bombing run over Lae. I didn't sling any mouldies on either of the Beaus because I thought you might want to get everyone back to base first."

Biggles nodded and stood staring out to sea. The evening sky was changing rapidly behind him and he knew it would be dark before they could even hope to reach Handy Cay, let alone return on a bombing raid.

"The sub's ready to leave right now," he said. "We can destroy the base, but we need to get the U-boat as well or it'll be free to wreck havoc around here."

"Damn cheek on their part," remarked Algy. "Setting up a base on the very shores of the Australian mainland itself."

"As Ken pointed out, one of the big headaches for Australia right now is all these unprotected thousands of miles of coast – particularly up here in the north. Standing here nattering isn't going to solve the problem. Let's go back and have a word with the locals."

The two walked quickly up to where Barnes and Ginger had administered rudimentary first aid to the teenager who had been struck in the lower leg, which was now wrapped in Barnes' handkerchief.

Biggles introduced Algy to Tom and Barnes and all shook hands.

"He needs to have the bullet removed," commented Ginger as Biggles asked how the boy was.

"We can look after that," Barnes assured them. "He'll be fine. He's a good kid. What are your plans now?"

Biggles looked at both the local men consideringly.

"Firstly, if we were to come over in, say, two–two and a half hours' time, would you be able to have someone in position to put up a torch light to help us home in on the target? We'll find our way here okay, but I don't want to waste our bombs. I need to wipe this base out on the first strike. Secondly, can you manage to hold any prisoners safe until the authorities send someone to take charge of them?"

Barnes and Tom exchanged glances and Tom spoke, "We can do that. You go get your bombs and we'll do the rest."

"Do you have a torch for signalling?" asked Biggles.

Barnes nodded. "I always keep a supply of torches. No electricity out here yet, mate. In case you hadn't noticed, we're about a million miles from nowhere."

"All right. Let's get cracking, chaps. Ginger, you can go with Algy. Algy, get Ferocity down here after you get topsides and I'll follow with him." Biggles turned back to Barnes. "One other thing. I'll drop a message for you to bring you up to date on what'll happen with any prisoners as soon as I receive word. One of my boys will fly over and drop it on the beach as soon as we can."

"Thanks," said Barnes simply, holding out his hand. As the men shook hands all round, Tom looked at Biggles.

"We won't let you down," he said quietly as he shook the Squadron Leader's hand.

"No. I'm sure you won't, Tom," smiled Biggles. With that, the airmen turned back to the beach and Algy and Ginger roared into the air. Biggles stood waiting for Ferocity to land, still thinking about the enemy submarine that would again be prowling these waters. To have found its base but be denied the opportunity of destroying the submarine itself was particularly galling. But he could not change what had happened and did not waste time wishing he could. Instead, his nimble brain was already planning the coming raid and contemplating ways in which the squadron could deal with the submarine threat over coming days.

When the two fighters landed back on Handy Cay, Biggles wasted no time, pausing only long enough for his pilots to have a quick evening meal. Orders were given and soon three Beaufighters, carrying two bombs apiece, and two Spitfires were lined up ready for take-off. Biggles, to Bertie's dismay, waved his "B" Flight commander's protestations aside and declared that Bertie would remain in charge of the base until they returned.

"It's a bit hard, old boy. Yes, by Jove. A bit hard," he murmured sorrowfully as he watched the airmen preparing for the mission.

"Never mind," returned Biggles somewhat unsympathetically, "who knows what action you might have here while we're gone? Just make sure the remaining aircraft and our people are kept safe and I'll be happy. I might even let you go find some Zeroes to play with tomorrow."

Bertie polished his monocle and regarded Biggles.

"Far be it for me to question the CO's orders," he muttered disconsolately, glancing at Algy.

"You've had quite a bit of action already, today. I should think you'd be happy to take it easy," grinned Algy.

"Easy for you to say, old boy," retorted Bertie. "Not everyone can get away with creative interpretation of orders."

Biggles glanced from one man to the other. "This isn't a debate, Bertie. I've given you your orders. Just carry them out." He lessened any sting that his words might have carried with a lopsided grin. "Sometimes you've just got to do what you've got to do." He dropped his cigarette butt to the ground and carefully extinguished it with his heel. "I've said it before, and I'm saying it again. You know you chaps could make my life a whole lot easier if you simply obeyed orders without putting your own personal spin on them, don't you?"

"That'd be awfully boring for you, chum," retorted Algy cheerfully.

Biggles laughed. "Round up the troops, Algy, old son. We need to get mobile."

Bertie looked thoughtfully at Biggles' departing back. "Is the old Biggles a bit touchy tonight?"

"He's worried about that U-boat on the loose in these waters. We'll get the base, but the sub's pretty certain to escape. Probably already gone by now - and there's a good bit of Aussie shipping between here and Darwin," Algy smiled wryly. "You know Biggles. He's taking personal responsibility for that sub and won't rest till it's out of action. Be a good boy and look after things, Bertie. Biggles'll be okay."

A short while later, he took up his position at Biggles' right wing tip as the formation headed west into the evening sky. As usual, Ginger flew on Biggles' left. The three bomb-laden Beaufighters were escorted by Angus and Taffy in the Spitfires both of whom were climbing higher to provide protective cover. Biggles had invited Ted Edgars to accompany him in the second cockpit, but, despite the clamour from his remaining pilots to occupy the vacant seats in Algy's and Ginger's machines, he had left Ferocity, Henry, Tex and Tug standing disappointedly by the airstrip. Biggles was well aware of the dangers of the mission they were undertaking, and not being predisposed to put all his eggs in one basket, was disinclined to risk pilots unnecessarily.

The aircraft droned through the clear tropical night, taking a westward course to the tip of the Northern Territory where Bertie had landed his machine earlier that day. As they turned southwards, Biggles had everyone watching for the pre-arranged torch signal. It was with considerable relief that he finally saw the thin beam of light cut up into the night sky, for he had been by no means certain that his hastily laid plans would be able to be carried out. The Spitfires kept a vigilant watch above as the three Beaus lined up and commenced their bombing run. First Biggles, then Ginger, and lastly Algy, screamed low across the now not-secret German U-boat base, dropped their missiles and pulled up and away from the inferno erupting below. That they had caught the enemy unawares was evident in the lack of even the most rudimentary of defence. Biggles smiled grimly as they turned back over the waters of the Gulf and circled until the pre-arranged all-clear signal was flashed from below. He turned for home, and watched as the other Beaufighters fell in beside him. Looking above and around, he finally saw the Spitfires above and behind them and settled down for the flight home. Although he hadn't anticipated any opposition to their raid, he was aware of a strange feeling of anti-climax. They had destroyed the base and the local people would doubtless round up any prisoners, effectively putting a stop to this particular incursion into the Australian mainland. But he was sure the U-boat had escaped.

The aircraft had an uneventful return to their island base and were greeted by Bertie and the remaining pilots of 666 as they rolled to a stop and allowed the ground staff to push the machines under cover. The full tropical moon, now well above the eastern horizon, was casting its light across the water and the small island base.

'It's been quite a day for our first full day of ops," observed Algy as he, Ginger and Biggles led the way to the Mess while the flares lighting the strip were quickly extinguished amongst the quiet efficiency of well-trained crew carrying out their duties.

"I'd be a lot happier if we'd been able to nail that sub," commented Biggles discontentedly. "I'll have to let Townsville know what the status is. I guess young Roy's still up and waiting."

"I'll look after that if you give me your report," offered Edgars. "I'll go and see if he's in the radio hut now."

"Thanks, Ted, "Biggles nodded. "I'll come with you."

"Is it just me," murmured Ginger to Algy as the other two men headed off, "or is Biggles keeping a bit of a close eye on Sergeant Edgars?"

"Edgars is a bit of a dark horse," returned Algy casually.

"What, with his family connections?" scoffed Ginger. "Don't be daft."

"Why did you ask, if you don't like my answer?"

"Because I expected something sensible, not a dippy comment like that!"

"Well, what do you think?" retorted Algy with some exasperation. He knew Ginger was unaware of Biggles' reservations about the Australian sergeant and the conversation the three had had on Saturday evening. Until Biggles chose to share that with their younger comrade, Algy would keep his own thoughts private.

"I think Ted Edgars is a nice bloke. His father must be something of a right tartar, though, and I don't blame him for striking out on his own. Bet they had a few barneys when he was growing up! I just don't understand why Biggles seems to want to keep an eye on him all the time."

"Hardly _all _the time," laughed Algy easily. "He's a bit of an unknown quantity and he's also the liaison between Biggles and the RAAF Higher Command people."

"Yes. Strange that, don't you think?"

"Don't I think what? Ginger, if you've got a point to make, for goodness' sake just say it!"

"Well, that an _army sergeant_ would be acting as liaison between the Squadron and the RAAF people. He's not Air Force after all."

"Is that what's bothering you?" Algy smiled sympathetically. "Do you think Biggles has been a bit slighted by not having an RAAF officer as the liaison person?"

"Well, Ken Mortensen knows what you and Biggles have done and it just seems a bit off-hand…" began Ginger hotly.

"All right. Settle down," interrupted Algy. "You said yourself that Ted's family connections are quite something. His father's one of the Army's top brass, his uncle's an AVM, his future brother-in-law's a Grouper and goodness knows what the rest of the family are! He could just as easily be RAAF as Army, you know. And, between you and me, he's been offered a commission and flatly refuses to accept one. Although that could be just to annoy his father, I suspect. But he probably knows this area better than most of the RAAF types they could spare right now. Don't worry about it, laddie. Biggles and Ted hit it off quite well, so don't feel slighted on Biggles' behalf."

Algy smiled at the younger man, resisting the temptation to reach out and give a brotherly ruffle to the sandy hair that Ginger still had difficulty taming.

"Come on, let's have a drink. Biggles'll want to talk to everyone before we turn in."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eight – **_**Crocodiles, Sharks and other Wildlife…**_

Next morning Biggles dispatched Smyth and another mechanic with Ginger and Bertie to see if the stranded aircraft could be salvaged. High above the beach, Tex and Ferocity kept watch from their circling Spitfires as Ginger and Bertie landed their respective Beaufighters on the now familiar stretch of coast.

The four airmen climbed down and walked across the sand to Bertie's machine which now bore the additional evidence of the previous afternoon's attack. Bertie was not surprised to see Tom and Barnes walking out of the trees to greet them.

"Heard you coming," greeted Barnes, as Bertie introduced the Flight Sergeant and the young airman mechanic both of whom turned immediately to examining the damaged aircraft. Ginger exchanged greetings with the two Australian men and joined Smyth to see if he could help.

"Did you manage to round up those enemy types we flushed out of their bally little nest last night?" asked Bertie as the three of them stood watching the others. "The CO was keen to know. He's popping over himself soon. Just had to wait to hear from HQ first. He's bringing a top-notch communications chappie with him, too. Ted should be able to fix you up."

"No worries," drawled Barnes casually. "Tom's people have got them holed up in the schoolroom for the time being and they're not too happy with life at the moment," he finished with a grin.

"Not with twenty blokes sitting around outside with hunting spears and rifles," added Tom.

"How many of them are there?" asked Bertie curiously.

"Fifteen," replied the mission superintendant. "I'm happy to hold on to them till the authorities can take them, but I'd like to have some idea of how long that'll be, if it's possible."

"Mmm. Biggles'll be the one to talk to you about that, old boy," responded Bertie. "I presume you've checked their little U-boat depot to make sure our chaps did wipe it out last night?"

Tom laughed and Barnes chuckled, "There's nothing left of it, mate. Your lot hit the spot all right. We were kept busy rounding up the German Navy, but take it from me there's nothing left down there at all. What didn't get taken out by direct hits went up in smoke not long afterwards."

"Jolly good," nodded Bertie approvingly. All three turned to watch as a Beaufighter appeared across the water from the north east and had soon landed. Biggles descended, followed by Ted Edgars.

"This is getting to be a busy little airstrip," Biggles commented as he greeted Barnes and Tom and introduced Ted.

"Yeah. Isn't it just?" grinned Tom. A group of shy teenage boys had appeared at the edge of the trees and stood looking down at the activity on the beach. Biggles recognised the youngster who'd been hit the previous day and asked how he was, but the boy just smiled shyly and looked at Tom.

'My brother's boy," he explained. "Billy's fine. We're a tough lot, you know. They want to know if they can watch the aeroplanes."

"Of course they can watch," smiled Biggles. "We're going to be pretty busy soon, so we can do with some lookouts around here."

Barnes looked at him enquiringly.

"First of all, Ted's going to have a dekko at your communications shed and see if he can sort it out for you. Of course, if that cyclone brought down lines further down the track we can't help. I don't have the resources for that. And I've been asked if you can hold on to your prisoners for another couple of days. Your Navy's sending a patrol boat to take them off your hands but they won't be here till Thursday. Is that likely to pose a problem?"

"I think we can manage till then, don't you Tom?" Barnes glanced at the younger man enquiringly.

"No worries. The boys haven't had this much fun in years. Those Germans are scared rigid."

"If one of you can take Ted back he'll get started on your communications equipment," continued Biggles. "I want to take someone up with me who knows the country, and can tell me if there are any other suspicious looking settlements that shouldn't be along this part of the coast."

Barnes looked at Tom. "I'll take Sergeant Edgars with me if you want to go flying, Tom."

The younger man's face split into a huge grin revealing flashing white teeth. "Too right. Show me the way."

Biggles turned to Bertie.

"I want you to go with Ted and Les Barnes. See if you can lend Ted a hand if he needs it. I'll have a word with Ginger and Smyth before Tom and I head off. Stay with Ted till I get back," he ordered.

"Of course, old boy," agreed Bertie, nodding as he set off after Barnes and the sergeant. Biggles watched them disappear into the trees, smiling as a group of the watching boys clustered around Bertie who began chatting away to them as they disappeared. Then, followed by Tom, he walked down to where Ginger was helping Smyth with the Beaufighter.

"Can it be made airworthy?" he asked the Flight Sergeant who was peering into the starboard engine.

"Yes sir," he responded cheerfully. "A bullet damaged the fuel line and that's why the starboard engine died. That's easy to fix with a small bit of hose and a few clamps. We've got some chewing gum we can pop under the clamp to hold it till we get back to base. Unfortunately, another bullet hit the magneto wiring harness in the port engine and that's going to take a bit longer to repair but we can do it. We can probably do both within an hour or so, provided there's no interruptions and Mr Hebblethwaite can keep helping. Luckily, the bullet holes in the skin aren't too bad. We can fix those properly when we get home, too."

"Right. Keep on it, Flight. I'm taking Tom up with me for a bit of a look around to see if there're any other little bases being established that the Aussies don't know about. I can't keep Tex and Ferocity hanging around indefinitely up there. They'll be short of fuel soon." Biggles thought for a moment and then spoke to Ginger. "Go after Bertie and tell him I want him to take one of the Beaus up to keep an eye on the sky while you're still helping repair this one. I'll tell Tex and Ferocity to head off as soon as I'm airborne."

Placing the tool he'd been using in the Flight Sergeant's toolbox, Ginger strode off after Bertie's group, waving to the watching boys as he passed by them. Biggles turned to Tom.

""Have you been up before?"

"Only in a regular passenger 'plane – and once in the Flying Doctor a few years back."

"Good. What I want you to do is cast your eyes along every bit of coast we fly over and mark them on this map." Biggles pulled a map of the Gulf of Carpentaria from the western Queensland shoreline across to the eastern Northern Territory coast. "We don't have time to fly the whole Gulf coast, but we'll do what we can while these chaps do their repair work. Can you do that, do you think?"

"No worries," Tom laughed. "I loved geography at school. I know how to read maps, even from the air."

Biggles explained the workings of the radio, showed Tom how to don his helmet and the workings of the harness and seat belt and gave him a brief instruction on the art of bailing out, should it be necessary, fervently hoping such measures would not be necessary. By this time he could see Ginger and Bertie returning, and waving briefly to them, he opened his engines and taxied into position for takeoff.

Bertie was not long behind Biggles and began climbing to an altitude that would allow him to keep a protective eye on the group working on the beach as well as providing excellent vision in the event that any of the previous day's inquisitive Japanese planes reappeared. As he drew level with the two Spitfires, the pilots waved to him, rocked their wings and were soon speeding northeast for Handy Cay. He watched as Biggles' Beaufighter kept on its southward course along the Arnhem Land coast bordering the wide western waters of the Gulf. Biggles had also asked his pilots to keep a watchful eye out for the elusive U-boat and with this in mind, Bertie widened his cruising circuit to encompass more of the waters to the north and west, although given the many hours lapsed since the submarine's suspected departure, he held little hope of sighting it. From his vantage point he could see the curve of the Northern Territory as it stretched around westwards from the Gulf, bounded on its northern shores by the Arafura Sea. To the south he could see the beach with the other Beaufighters. Of Biggles' aircraft he could see no sign. He glanced at his watch, and realising that an hour had almost passed, he began losing height, preparatory to joining Ginger.

Where the Zero came from, Bertie could never afterwards say, but suddenly a deadly hail of lead struck his tail. The English pilot reacted with all the speed and skill that had seen him survive countless previous encounters and his fighter skidded across the sky, turning almost in its own length.

"These blighters are getting altogether too cheeky," he muttered as his finger held the firing button down and his own deadly stream danced across the void towards the advancing Japanese fighter. The deadly dance continued for a few minutes before his obviously Kamikaze-minded opponent suddenly charged directly at Bertie ramming the rear of his Beaufighter at a 90degree angle. The sheer force of the Zero's momentum carried it through Bertie's machine, cutting his tailplane off, immediately spiralling seawards in a cloud of smoke, before it exploded in a ball of fire. Bertie, realising he could not save his mortally damaged aircraft, wrestled the canopy open and launched himself outwards. Below, to his dismay, lay the waters of northern Australia, the domain of numerous crocodiles, tiger sharks and sea-snakes.

Bertie's parachute blossomed above him and his fall was arrested, giving him time to contemplate his situation. Below him lay the waters of the Arafura Sea, to the south it merged with the waters of the Gulf and to the east lay Torres Strait. The closest land was a small islet which, Bertie realised, would be within swimming distance of his likely splash-down. This proved to be the case, and wasting no time freeing himself from the entangling shrouds, he commenced a fast-paced freestyle sprint to the welcoming stretch of green-banded shoreline nearby. As he struck out he saw the long body of a sea snake cross his path and turn towards him. As Bertie increased his pace with a speed born of desperation, he thought something shadowy passed beneath him and his fear turned to complete horror as a triangular fin cut through the water beside him.

To say that Bertie experienced a terror unlike anything he had previously experienced would be nothing short of the truth. With remarkable presence of mind he punched at the nose appearing beside him and to his momentary relief the predator turned away. He now launched himself at the beckoning shoreline with a speed that may have earned him a medal in the peacetime Olympics and almost sobbed with relief as he felt sand beneath the boots he had not bothered to remove. He staggered from the deceptively idyllic waters and sank to the ground. A quick glance around did nothing to reassure him for the small island was covered in tropical jungle with mangroves lining the less-than-appealing shore now that he was actually there. He stared belligerently out to sea.

"What a bally awful place. Sharks and snakes and who-knows-what-all lurking around," he murmured in disgust. "Give me a nice safe Spitfire with half a dozen Messers to play with any day of the week! Yes, by jove!"

Having recovered his breath, he took stock of his situation. His clothing was sodden, as were his socks and boots. The sun was beating down unmercifully and the humidity was extremely enervating. Stripping off his shirt, he found some nearby rocks and laid it out to dry, followed quickly by the remainder of his clothing, socks and boots. Then he sat on a nearby rock and surveyed the uninviting mangroves and jungle.

"Not the best place for a picnic. No fear, not at all. And nothing to dry my monocle with either."

He was confident that Biggles or Ginger would soon be looking for him, for he was sure his short, sharp battle and its ending would have been seen by the party on the beach. His immediate concern was to keep himself from falling prey to any of the local wildlife that might fancy a change in diet. He had almost decided that his clothing was dry enough to put back on, when a strange grunting cough attracted his attention. At the same time, he felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He was being watched.

Bertie turned, his boots in his hand. All the horrors he had endured since landing in the sea were totally eclipsed as he stared at the beast watching him just outside the mangroves. What he had previously dismissed as a hefty length of driftwood had woken up and was gazing at him with unwinking eyes, its cruel teeth evilly displayed. Forgetting his clothes he spun about and sprinted full bore towards the nearest trees. Reaching the nearest one, he went up it with considerable alacrity. From his somewhat precarious perch in the tree fork he stared down at the crocodile that had followed him and was gazing up hungrily from beneath the tree.

"Go away, you rotten horror!" he exclaimed aggressively, acutely aware of the precariousness of his situation. He gazed with some surprise at his boots, still dangling from one hand and briefly contemplated throwing them at the prehistoric monster below, if for no other reason than venting some of his spleen on the cause of his present discomfort.


	12. Chapter 12

**Ginger Sees Some Action**

Back on the beach Ginger, along with the two other members of the repair crew, had watched the short aerial encounter between Bertie and the Japanese fighter, watching with dismay as Bertie's Beaufort met its end and its pilot baled out. Dropping his tools, Ginger ran towards the remaining Beaufighter with a view to ascertaining Bertie's welfare. To his dismay he pulled up short and swore loudly and bitterly as he realised his machine's wheels were already covered by the waters of the incoming tide, and had begun to settle into the sand. How they could have been unaware of such a possibility he could not imagine and he did not look forward to what Biggles would have to say when he returned. He realised that Bertie had somehow been able to run his original machine to a position just above the high tide mark and they had consistently landed at low tide, thus giving little or no thought to being stranded by such an eventuality as had now occurred. Smyth and the young RAAF mechanic, a Corporal Williams, also downed tools and ran to see if they could help Ginger, but the weight of the machine and the incoming water defeated them.

"I'm sorry, sir," apologised Smyth. "I should have kept an eye on the water."

"It's not your fault, Flight," acknowledged Ginger miserably. "If anyone's to blame it's me for parking the machine where I did. Hark," he spun around and squinted into the southern sky. "Here comes the CO now. Is there going to be enough firm dry sand for him to land?"

A quick survey of the diminished beach revealed the truth and Ginger ran along the sand, waving his arms above his head frantically. Biggles, well experienced in the vagaries of nature, soon realised what had happened and turned out to sea where he circled for a few minutes before zooming low over the party on the beach. A small bundle soon dropped to the ground and Ginger ran to retrieve it. A note, weighted by Biggles' cigarette case, was encased in his handkerchief which had been knotted to ensure nothing fluttered free.

"Stay where you are. I'll come back. B."

They watched as Biggles' aircraft headed north and began losing height with the obvious intention of landing somewhere out of Ginger's line of sight, for the northern coastline immediately in front of the watchers on the beach swung sharply to the west beyond a high headland which obscured their view. As experienced airmen, they all realised that Biggles was seeking to land. Ginger exhaled a relieved breath when he heard the engine die and relative quiet descended again. Telling the mechanics to remain working on the damaged machine, he ran towards the headland. He had barely begun to climb it when Biggles and Tom appeared over the top and climbed down to meet him.

"I hope you parked well above the tide mark!" exclaimed Ginger by way of greeting.

"I should thundering well hope so," retorted Biggles smartly. "How bad is it?" Never being one to cry over spilt milk, Biggles was not about to berate Ginger for an oversight that he felt he, himself, should have foreseen when he had landed earlier. Ginger quickly filled him in as they walked back along the beach.

"Where have you parked yourself, anyway?" the younger man asked curiously.

"There's a nice little cove around the corner with a nice stretch of sand and pebbles that's broader than the one we're on. Where's Bertie?" Biggles glanced upwards. "I couldn't see him when we were coming back."

"In the drink somewhere to the north. We saw him jump and that's when I found I couldn't move my machine. I'm sorry, I should have…"

"All right, no use crying about it," interrupted Biggles curtly. "Let's see what can be done." By this time they had reached Smyth, and Bertie's original Beaufighter. A quick look soon confirmed that Ginger's machine would not be able to be moved until the tide had receded.

"How long till the tide turns?" Biggles asked Tom.

"Any time now," replied the local man. "I'll go back to my place and get a couple of shovels and some help. We'll dig it out pretty smart."

"Thanks. And ask Sergeant Edgars how long he's going to be," requested Biggles. The latter was answered before Tom could acknowledge the request, for the Sergeant and Les Barnes emerged from the trees and came trotting down the dunes.

"What are you going to do about Bertie?" asked Ginger anxiously as they watched the others approaching.

"I want you to take my machine and see if you can find him. But take Ted Edgars with you as well in case someone needs to go down to help him."

Biggles briefly explained the situation and ordered Ginger and Ted off immediately, before turning his attention to Smyth and the two aircraft now stranded on the beach.

"At this rate, I might as well move my base here," he observed drily as he watched his young protégé and Edgars trotting along the beach towards the headland. "Okay, Flight, fill me in," he requested turning to Smyth as Ginger and Ted vanished from sight.

Ginger wasted no time in heading towards the area where he had seen Bertie bale out and fifteen minutes after taking off he saw the shrouds of the abandoned parachute drifting south-westwards on the fast flowing tide. He gazed around, wondering how far it might have drifted in the time that had elapsed and noted several small islets stretching out below him to the north.

"Keep your eyes open for him," he requested needlessly, for Edgars was already gazing steadily downwards as Ginger banked the aircraft to improve their view of the waters below.

"Listen mate," came the quiet voice from the rear cockpit after a few minutes, "I think the brolly has drifted a fair distance and it would have come from the north east, judging by the flow of the water. There's a small island on the horizon over there. D'ya reckon it's worth checking it out?"

Ginger agreed and, applying the rudder, turned his aircraft towards the island Edgars had indicated. He banked and brought the fighter down to a height not much above the tree line and, ordering the sergeant to keep his eyes peeled, concentrated on flying as slowly over the small shoreline as he dared without risking a stall. Ginger thought it looked nothing at all like a tropical paradise, with the surly mangroves lining each end of the small cove which seemed to be littered with logs and debris on some rocks. Ginger caught his breath. Surely the debris couldn't be….?

"Go round again," the sergeant's urgent voice interrupted Ginger's thoughts. "I think I saw clothes lying on those rocks."

"So did I chum," murmured the pilot as he banked wide out to sea and slowly flew the length of the cove again. This time both men clearly identified the clothing spread across the rocks. "It has to be Bertie's!" exclaimed Ginger. "I don't understand why he hasn't waved to us to let us know he's okay, though," he added with concern.

"Could be that he's up a tree somewhere. I think some of those logs down there might be crocs, mate," drawled the sergeant. As if in confirmation of the sergeant's comment, as Ginger banked and came over again, one of the "logs" moved and Ginger saw the reptile lift its head and charge towards one of the trees bordering the shoreline.

"I think there's someone in that tree," called Edgars urgently. "Did you see him wave?"

"No," retorted Ginger shortly. "I saw that horror on the beach move and I nearly flew into the trees! I'm watching where I'm flying," he added. "What on earth are we going to do? You can't jump down into that. You'd never get past those crocs to help Bertie in time." Ginger's voice reflected his desperation. More than ever he needed Biggles' cool head and sharp brain, but his own brain was whirling. He had no idea how long Bertie had been trapped in the tree, nor whether he'd been injured, but he knew Bertie's life was at stake. What would Biggles do? As he turned away out to sea and began circling slowly he heard the rat-a-tat of machine gun fire behind and above him and swore creatively and fluently under his breath, whilst at some level being rather glad the most influential figure in his life was not present to hear him. Pulling the stick back into his thigh and hitting his rudder pedal, he skidded erratically and turned to face his attacker.

"Where do these infernal Zeros keep coming from?" he muttered savagely as he sought both to evade the enemy fire and climb to a sufficient height to gain some advantage before opening fire himself. All the frustrations of the past few hours suddenly boiled over into red hot anger and Ginger flew at the Japanese fighter with a singular fury, holding the firing button down until he saw his bullets raking through his opponent's fuselage, zooming high at the last moment to avoid collision.

"You got him!" exclaimed Edgars jubilantly. Bank around, Ginger looked down dispassionately as he watched the Zero jerk, roll over and plummet downwards. His eyes widened with increasing concern as he realised its trajectory was aimed straight towards the small island beneath them. The Japanese fighter hit the little beach nose first and erupted into flames.

"You keep an eye on the sky for any more of these rotten little blighters," Ginger ordered Ted as he began losing height. "I'm going to see if I can see how Bertie is."

Suiting his action to his words, Ginger dropped down and flew along the edge of the shoreline. All sign of the crocodiles had gone. So had Bertie's clothes as the Zero had crashed on top of the rocks where he had placed them to dry. But, now that he knew precisely where to look, Ginger clearly saw his friend perched in his tree. Waggling his wings to let Bertie know he'd been seen, Ginger turned away.

"Now would be the perfect opportunity to get him, if I could only figure out how to do it," muttered Ginger.

"Why not let me go down? Now the crocs are gone, I'd be okay and I can take the first aid kit in case Bertie's a bit bruised and battered," offered Edgars.

"Then there'd be two of you to rescue," pointed out Ginger. "And there's no iron-clad guarantee you'd land on the beach anyway. No. Much and all as I hate leaving him, I'm going to have to go back and let Biggles sort it out. You just make sure no more Zeros get a bead on us!"

Ginger literally tore back across the water and was soon taxiing across the cove from which he'd taken off earlier. He wasn't surprised to see Biggles coming across the headland to greet him as he climbed down from the cockpit.

"Get a bit hot out there?" Biggles nodded towards the holes in the Beaufighter's wing. "Did you find Bertie?"

"Yes to both questions," replied Ginger and quickly filled Biggles in on the events of the past half hour. Biggles' relief at knowing Bertie was safe was tempered by the danger his Flight Commander still faced.

"You did the right thing, laddie," affirmed Biggles as he took in Ginger's distress. "But we'll have to get out there and get him before those brutes recover from their fright. Let's get back to the others. Smyth says Bertie's machine's right, now. We've run the engines and they're both giving full revs. And Les Barnes and Tom have got a team of blokes digging your machine out of the sand as we speak. We should be about ready to try to move it up the beach any time."

By the time Biggles had finished talking they had arrived back at their original beach where Tom's people, under Smyth's direction, had almost completed moving Ginger's Beaufighter onto firmer sand. Biggles quickly explained Bertie's situation and turned to Barnes and Tom.

"Do you happen to have any sort of boat we could borrow to get out there and grab Bertie? And a couple of rifles if you've got any to spare. We've got our service automatics, but I'd feel happier with a rifle as well."

The mission superintendent was happy to oblige with the rifles and Tom offered to take Biggles and Ted over to the island in an outboard, whilst Ginger was ordered to take his own machine up to provide cover for the operation.

"And keep your eyes skinned for these wretched enemy aircraft. We can't afford to be caught napping again," he added. "Everyone seems to have been blindsided by this mob and it's about time we stopped offering them a sitting duck every time they come over. That goes for you as well, Flight Sergeant," Biggles turned to the two mechanics. "Keep under cover and keep your eyes skinned."

In short order, Biggles and Ted were seated in the small outboard motor boat that Tom and his friends had brought down from its resting place among the trees and Ginger had taken off and was headed back to Bertie's island. When he circled over the small piece of land, he saw Bertie standing on the shore, waving his hand. He quickly scribbled a noted, advising that Biggles was bringing help, and having nothing else at hand to use as a weight, he wrapped the note around his service pistol and wrapped this in his handkerchief, knotting it carefully to secure its contents. Flying carefully over the beach he dropped the bundle and turned out to sea where he had the satisfaction of watching Bertie collect it, read the note and wave to him. Feeling satisfied with his efforts, Ginger started climbing to a height that would provide sufficient vision and before long he could see the small boat cutting across the clear waters towards the island.


	13. Chapter 13

**Back to Base**

Biggles eyes moved constantly from the watery horizon to the sky above. He watched as Ginger circled low, dropped below the horizon, rose again and began climbing higher and higher. He was not happy about their vulnerability on the open water and was concerned about the obvious proximity of the as yet unidentified Zero base. He was of the opinion that the escaped U-Boat presented no immediate danger, as he believed it would have long since departed the Gulf waters during the night. He drew some comfort from the knowledge that the Australian military authorities were aware of its presence and would, he felt sure, have advised their shipping accordingly. His immediate concern was to rescue Bertie and then return with the three machines and personnel to their base on Handy Cay. He could see the island as it began appearing above the horizon, growing steadily closer.

As they drew closer they could see Bertie standing waving. Running the bow of the boat onto what passed for sand on the uninviting shoreline, Tom was careful to prevent the boat's engine grounding against the shallow bottom of the sea as Biggles and Ted helped Bertie aboard.

"Here," Tom yelled to Biggles, "hold the rudder bar while I push us around," and jumping into the shallow water, he grabbed the boat's bow and began swinging it back towards the open sea. Bertie collapsed unceremoniously onto the bottom of the swinging boat as Biggles moved aft to take over from Tom, when Edgars yelled and swinging the rifle he was carrying up let fire towards the shore. Biggles saw what he had mistakenly thought to be a large piece of driftwood begin thrashing around on the ground as Tom shoved the boat back towards the sea and swiftly swung himself over the side.

"I say, old bean," said Bertie in his most heartfelt tone, "you were just about in time, if you know what I mean. That blighter came out of the swamp and was between me and my favourite perch. Bit warmish, isn't it?"

As Tom moved to change places with Biggles, he deftly stripped his shirt off and handed it to Bertie.

"Here, put this on. Give you some protection against the sun."

Ted was already applying soothing cream to Bertie's sunburnt skin and the pilot gratefully pulled the garment around his body.

"Sorry, Bertie," smiled Biggles apologetically. "We don't have any spare kit for you. Tom's shirt'll have to do."

"Very kind of you, Tom, old top," responded Bertie warmly. "But what about you?"

"Don't worry about me. It's you white fellas that need to worry," Tom laughed. "And I'll bet we can find you some clobber back home to wear back to your base."

"Oh, I say, that'd be most frightfully good of you, old boy," Bertie's relief was heartfelt. "Don't know what the chaps would have to say if I stepped out wearing my best birthday suit!"

After an uneventful trip back across the pristine waters, the party disembarked from the small boat to be greeted by Les Barnes and the relieved ground crew. In short order Tom had organised some spare clothing for Bertie who gratefully donned these offerings and then happily slipped his feet into his own boots, the only items of clothing to have survived his recent adventures. By this time Ginger had returned to the group on the beach and all were awaiting Biggles' orders.

"We'd better head straight back to base before Algy starts mounting a search and rescue operation," he commented, looking at his watch and grimacing at the time.

"Now that our radio's fixed, do you want us to send him a message?" offered Barnes helpfully.

"Please," accepted Biggles with a smile. "Just let him know we're all fine and on our way back."

The three Beaufighters took to the air, carrying Smyth, the RAAF corporal and Edgars with them. Before departing Biggles had assured Barnes that he'd send a message with an updated ETA for the Naval boat that had been dispatched to collect the prisoners. There had also been some discussion concerning the safety of the mission from potential Japanese attacks. If it had become known that the mission had been actively assisting the RAAF, then the local Japanese command could consider it to be a legitimate military target, a fact which caused Biggles not a little concern.

"They've bombed civilian targets in Darwin and Broome already," acknowledged Barnes with a shrug. "Not much we can do about it, Squadron Leader. We're all Aussies here and this is our country. We're not going to be intimidated by them. We'll fight, just like you blokes fought to stop Hitler crossing the channel. I think Tojo might find he's bitten off a bit more than he can chew in thinking he could potentially invade Australia."

Biggles thought of the children he'd watched playing around the community the previous day and sighed as he gripped first Barnes's and then Tom's hands.

"I'd suggest you dig some air raid shelters first up, and make sure you sort out some air raid drill. You won't get any warning situated where you are, and these damn Zeros are based somewhere near here," he added grimly.

"One thing my people are good at, mate," commented Tom seriously, "is going bush. We know this land, and so do Les and his family. They might bomb us and destroy our homes, but they won't knock us out. And we can live off the land for a very long time. We haven't lost those skills out here."

"All right," Biggles nodded, privately wondering if these people had any concept of the full horror of modern warfare. "Look after yourselves and we'll try to keep an eye on you as much as we can. But we've got to follow orders and our higher command's priorities may take us away from this area. Thank you for all the help you've given us. It's been invaluable, and I'll see that it gets recognition in my reports."

An hour later the three aircraft were taxiing along the landing strip on Handy Cay where the rest of the Squadron greeted them eagerly, with several rude comments being passed about Bertie's new uniform of the day.

As they walked over to the Mess for a belated lunch, Biggles briefed Algy on the morning's events.

"These Zeros are making a pest of themselves," commented Algy. "Sounds like it was a bit hot out there for a while."

"Anything happen here?" asked Biggles.

"Deadly dull. You had all the action out your way. If you leave me here again I swear I'll die of boredom. I thought we came out here so we could all see some action."

'If I remember correctly, I was the one who was looking for some action while you seemed perfectly content to sit in the Mess and fill yourself up on whatever the kitchen staff could supply," remarked Biggles pointedly. "In fact you accused me of being stark ravers when I suggested we leave England's winter and join the RAAF."

"And if I remember correctly, old boy, you were grousing about Raymond's hair-brained suicide missions and your own desire to put as much distance as you could between the two of you before he could dream up some more."

"All right," Biggles held his hands up in mock surrender. "You've got me. I'm sorry you've had to sit here twiddling your thumbs, but as I keep pointing out to you…"

"Someone has to stay behind," finished Algy. "If you'd delegate to Bertie or Angus occasionally, I'd stop grousing, you know."

Biggles burst out laughing and Algy looked at him indignantly. "What's so funny?"

"You're becoming predictable, Algy old son," returned Biggles lightly. "Let's have lunch. I'm starving. Any word from Townsville?"

"I was getting round to that. Ken sent you a message this morning. Said to standby for some new orders later today."

….

Biggles was finishing his belated lunch when Corporal Roy Smyth appeared by his table.

"Sorry to interrupt, sir, but Air-Vice Marshall Mortensen has sent a message through asking you to stand by for new orders. I thought you might want to be there when his next message comes through."

"Thanks, Roy," smiled Biggles as he placed his empty teacup on the table. "I'll come right over." He rose, indicating that Algy was to accompany him and the two followed the young corporal to the communications hut. They had no sooner arrived than the telegraphy device commenced chattering and Roy slipped into his chair and began taking notes. After decoding, he handed the message to his commanding officer. Biggles scanned it, thanked the young corporal and walked out towards his own office with Algy.

"Looks like we're all going to be getting some of that action you're pining for," he announced as he leaned back against the desk, hitching one leg over the corner. "Ken's given us a fair bit to be going on with for the rest of the week!"

"Better than sitting around twiddling our thumbs," grinned Algy in anticipation. "What's on the agenda?"

"First up, we've got to locate that U-boat. Top priority. Locate and destroy before it can do any damage."

"Fair enough. What else?"

"Photographic recce of an area on the south eastern end of the New Guinea peninsula, called Milne Bay.1 The Allies want to establish a RAAF base there and Ken'd like some aerial shots before they send in the airfield people to start clearing the jungle. That shouldn't be too difficult."

"That'll take one Beau with a pilot and camera operator all of a couple of hours at the most," murmured Algy. "What else?"

"There's a Japanese aircraft carrier somewhere in the Timor Sea. That's probably where these confounded Zeros keep popping up from. We're to locate and destroy with the same priority as the U-boat. And we're to locate HMAS _Gunadoo_, the minesweeper/corvette that's on its way to the mission to pick up the prisoners and provide them with air cover. Then they also want us to keep harassing the various Japanese bases on the northern New Guinea coast and around Rabaul."

Algy raised his eyebrows. "And what do they want us to do the next day?"

Biggles grinned. "Not sure. Let's take it one day at a time."

Biggles kept Algy busy for the rest of the afternoon as they made their plans for carrying out their orders over the next few days. The final arrangement settled upon was that Henry Harcourt would take a Beaufighter and Ted Edgars as camera operator to look after the aerial reconnaissance of the Milne Bay area, with Tug providing high altitude cover, while Angus and Taffy, in Spitfires, would engage in a strafing exercise over Lae and Rabaul. Bertie, Ferocity and Tex, in the remaining three Beaufighters, were allocated responsibility for locating the _Gunadoo_ and providing the first round of cover for the naval vessel. Biggles Algy and Ginger, also taking Spitfires, were to locate the U-Boat and the Japanese aircraft carrier. Since all the Spitfires had been fitted with long-range tanks, Biggles was able to cover a considerable area of the map. As he and Algy walked over to the mess for the squadron's evening meal he whistled tunelessly, but happily, well content with the day's events and the plans made for the morrow.

After dinner, most of the squadron were gathered in the mess, clustered together around tables where mosquito coils burned in the constant battle against the fever carrying insects. Outside, a late evening tropical downpour pelted the corrugated iron roofs of the buildings.

Although the others did not as yet know the details of their deployment for the next day, all were aware that Biggles had received orders and that he and Algy had spent the afternoon cloistered in the office, pouring over a large table map. An undercurrent of suppressed excitement was felt by all. A small group was gathered around the ancient upright piano, where Algy was playing and a small group were singing lustily, if not tunefully. Biggles, Edgars, Bertie and Tex were seated at one table, playing cards when Bertie turned to the Australian sergeant and surveyed him through his monocle.

"What about the rest of your family, Ted? Are they all as illustrious as your father?"

Edgars glanced at the RAF Flight Lieutenant. "Depends on what you mean by illustrious. They've all done okay for themselves. My next brother, Peter, did his RAAF training at Point Cook with Jack Somers. They're old school mates. Pete's got a squadron over in Malta at the moment and last I heard they were fine." He drew on his cigarette and blew a smoke ring towards the ceiling. "Then there's the twins, Alan and Cecily. Alan's AIF. He's a career soldier, like the M-G. He's been in North Africa for a while. Miraculously he seems to have survived. He's a crazy cove." He shook his head reminiscently and a slight smile curved his lips. "Don't know how he ever survived Duntroon – I suspect the old man might have rescued him once or twice. But he's a damn good soldier. From what I hear, his blokes'd follow him anywhere, which may not always be a good thing – for them anyway," he grinned as if remembering past events before continuing.

"But there you go, that's Alan. Cec, of course, joined the WAAAFs as soon as they started and is having the time of her life. She's the bossiest young woman you'd ever want to meet, so she should be right in her element." His grin broadened. "I just can't wait for Cec and Jack to get married. Reckon it'll be a rip snorter. They're crazy about each other, but both of them are used to giving the orders." He shook his head and turned towards to the bar. "My shout."

The rest of the squadron gathered around to collect their drinks. As they settled back at the tables, watching the heavy rain drumming down outside, Algy wandered over from the piano and looked at Edgars curiously.

"Is that all, Ted? I thought I heard Jack Somers say you had three brothers."

The man's face lost its animation and he stared out the door before turning to the speaker.

"Yes, there's young Mick…Michael. He's the baby. Joined up almost straight out of school at the end of last year. It was all he'd ever wanted to do anyway – be a soldier like dad and his big brothers." Edgars' eyes seemed to lose focus as he stared past Algy, as if he was seeing someone else. "His lot were at Singapore. We haven't heard a word since the Japs took it last month."

A short silence greeted his words. Then Biggles raised his glass and nodded at the Australian.

"To Mick, Ted. May he be kept safe."

All around, the others raised their drinks in recognition, not just of one young man, but of the many thousands missing in various theatres of the global conflict.

1 For a brief overview of Milne Bay and its strategic importance in 1942, see

.


	14. Chapter 14

**A Hot Time on the High Seas**

Next morning saw the island base become a hive of activity as ground crew prepared the squadron's aircraft for the day's missions. Biggles gathered his pilots and Sergeant Edgars in the small room they had allocated for briefing and gave them their orders.

"So what do we do when we've finished beating up the Jap 'drome?" asked Angus.

"Just make sure you don't get in the way of any of their fighters," retorted Biggles. "They know we're around and we're not likely to catch them napping a second time. Come back by way of Cape York and approach from the south – under no circumstances is anyone to fly straight back here when you've been over the New Guinea and New Britain areas. We don't know who might be watching our movements."

He glanced around at his team all of whom were watching him expectantly. Biggles knew they would follow his orders unquestioningly and he smiled at them.

"Angus, you and Taffy'll probably be back before Bertie, Algy or myself, so you'll be in command till one of us gets back. Make sure the machines are out of sight under cover at all times – unless you're attacked and have to go upstairs and have a go at them." He looked at Henry Harcourt. "Tex and Henry, as soon as Ted's got those photos done, you come back here – via Cape York, too – and wait for Angus and Taffy to get back."

Biggles, with Algy and Ginger watched as the other officers of 666 took off. Biggles turned to his friends and smiled whimsically.

"Algy, I want you to take up a position to the north of me – keep me just in sight at all times; and Ginger, you're to do the same thing to the south. I should be able to see both of you. We'll need to keep our eyes skinned, especially when we get further west above the Northern Territory. I'm looking for anything that might indicate the whereabouts of that U-boat and this Jap aircraft carrier. I'll signal when to turn back. If anyone sees anything, turn towards me and I'll follow you. That means you each have to keep an eye on me as well as my keeping an eye on you. All three of us will stay together. Any questions?" He looked at them enquiringly. "Right, let's get cracking," he ordered and the three Spitfires roared off into the morning sky, climbing to gain sufficient altitude to provide good aerial surveillance.

Biggles' eyes were never still as he watched the water below, the sky above and around him, and the two Spitfires each roaring along some distance away on either side of him. This continued unchanged for quite some time and Biggles knew the north eastern tip of Arnhem Land, with which they had become so familiar over the past two days, lay to the south. Soon after, Ginger's machine changed direction slightly and began closing the gap between them. Immediately Biggles followed and was gratified to see, in his reflector, that Algy had followed suit. Far towards the south, disturbingly close to the Australian coastline, Biggles soon made out the sizeable shape of an aircraft carrier. Knowing that the three Spitfires would be between the early morning sun in the east and the ship, Biggles turned away and climbed slightly. Breaking the radio-silence he had earlier imposed, he spoke briefly and concisely to his friends.

"We can't make an accurate ID from here so we're going to go in from the sun. I want to be sure it is the Jap carrier before we beat them up. If it is the enemy, we'll do two strafing runs and let them have everything you've got. We'll go along the length of the ship, and break away to the south immediately we finish our second run. We'll fly south over the mainland and turn east when we're well away from them. Hold your first run till I give the signal. We'd look idiots if it's an Aussie ship. I don't think it is, but I want to be sure before we open fire. Got that?"

Receiving words of assent from both Algy and Ginger, Biggles wasted no more time. Keeping the sun behind him, he approached apparently all unnoticed. Then, putting the machine into a dive, he zoomed over the startled crew, seeing the telltale rising sun ensign flying in the breeze. Biggles turned the Spitfire on a wingtip and roared back along the length of the carrier, his guns spitting destruction. He climbed high to the south west, watching with grim satisfaction as he saw Ginger finishing his run as Algy roared along the carrier's length. Already small fires had sprung up and he noted at least one enemy aircraft was blazing on the deck. Biggles absorbed all this with the lightening speed of one well schooled in the deadly art of aerial combat and, lining up his guns, commenced his second and final assault, closely followed by Ginger and Algy. This time the flak was fiercer and the three of them flew through something of a maelstrom. Ginger flinched as he felt metal striking his aircraft, but no major damage was done for the machine continued responding to his demands.

"All right," Biggles said tersely over the radio, "let's head back. We know where she is and we'll come back in force with something more than machine guns. Follow me."

By the time they reached their island base those who had been deployed on the New Guinea based operations had returned. After leading his pilots through a debrief on their assorted missions, Biggles and Algy returned to the airstrip where Biggles was giving instructions to Flight Sergeant Smyth regarding the armaments he required for attacking the aircraft carrier when the distinctive 'whisper' of the Beaufighters could be heard approaching from the south and Bertie's flight landed smoothly. Biggles watched them taxi into their shelters and walked over to meet his pilots. That they were upset was soon evident.

"Found the _Gunadoo_, old boy," reported Bertie tersely. "She's on her side on a reef near an island cay just to the north west of the mission. We arrived in time to see a couple of Zeros strafing the survivors who were trying to get ashore."

"Were they, indeed?" frowned Biggles. "I trust you put paid to that little game."

"Yeah, they won't be playing that game again," drawled Tex. "One went down a flamer and the other pilot bailed out. He landed right on the cay where the Aussie navy types were heading."

"I dropped a message to the sailors. Told them we'd try to get help for them as soon as we could. Hope that was the right thing to do," added Bertie a trifle anxiously as he noted that Biggles' frown had deepened.

"What? Oh, of course that was right, Bertie," smiled Biggles. "We'll have to let their HQ know what's happened. I'm concerned about those prisoners that the mission people have been guarding. I don't know what happened to the ship, but I could make an educated guess." He turned to Algy who had heard the whole conversation. "Better get everyone in the mess for an early lunch. I'll have to let Townsville know what's happened and see what they have to say before we start anything else. I'll still send some Beaus out to see if we can finish off that carrier. I want to put paid to all these Zeros popping up on our tails out of the blue. You'll have to take charge of that while I wait to see what they want done about the _Gunadoo_."

"What do you think happened?" asked Algy curiously as they walked towards the mess.

"That damned U-boat. What do you think?" retorted Biggles.

Algy nodded. "My guess, too. That carrier wasn't in the right location to have been responsible for striking the _Gunadoo_."

In the mess Biggles gathered his officers, together with Ted Edgars, around him and brought them up to date.

"Ted, come over to communications with me and we'll send a message through to Townsville immediately." He smiled at young Roy Smyth who had jumped to his feet ready to assist. "You've been on duty all morning, Roy, and you'll need to stand by for responses this afternoon anyway. Enjoy your lunch. Ted can look after me."

He turned back to the pilots. "Algy is taking three Beaus out after lunch to torpedo this wretched carrier that seems to have a never ending supply of Zeros for the express purpose of annoying us. I want five of you to go with him. That'll be two extra pilots and three for the back seats. Sort out who's who for piloting and doing the bomb aiming amongst yourselves."

There was an immediate clamour from everyone wanting to join in. Biggles looked at Algy and shrugged.

"Your show, old boy. You get to call the shots on this one," he grinned as he left the mess with Edgars in tow. Algy held up his hand to quell the noise around him.

"You can toss for it – or draw lots. I don't particularly care, but just make sure I wind up with five able-bodied people down by the shelters in half an hour. I need my lunch." And he turned on his heel and walked over to the serving counter where the grinning RAAF mess sergeant handed him a plate of fresh sandwiches and a cold drink.

Algy sat and ate his lunch, studiously ignoring the commotion behind him as Bertie and Ginger loudly organised a session of coin tossing until the triumphant five stood grinning at the unlucky losers.

"I say, Taffy, old bean," complained Bertie sadly. "I don't think you need crow quite so loudly."

""I haven't even begun to crow, look you," retorted Taffy rudely. "You and your 'lucky' florin!"

"Serves you right for trying to be greedy," agreed Angus. "You've had all the action these past days while we've sat here twiddling our thumbs. So pipe down. You were beaten fair and square."

"All right," interjected Algy, rising and joining the group. "Settle down all of you. Who're the winners?"

He was inundated by a loud chorus of "me" accompanied by equally loud groans amid accusations of cheating and mutters of "people who use double-headed coins". The five to join the mission were Ginger, Tug, Taffy, Henry and Angus. Algy swiftly appointed Ginger and Angus as the two extra pilots and assigned the other three to the three respective rear cockpits. He looked at his watch.

"You've got ten minutes to meet me down at the sheds," he ordered. "See you there." As they grabbed packets of sandwiches and left, Algy turned to Bertie curiously.

"You didn't really use a double-headed coin, did you?"

"Apparently I did, old boy," confessed Lord Bertie somewhat contritely as he polished his monocle. "At least that's what the boys seemed to find me using."

"I would never have thought it of you, Bertie," laughed Algy rather incredulously.

"Never would have thought it of myself, old boy," murmured Bertie in response, but with a gleam in his eye. "Just never quite know what one is likely to find in one's pocket. Total surprise to me."

Algy shook his head, still chuckling. "I'd better be off. I want to pop in on Biggles before I head off with the boys. Enjoy your lunch."

Algy strode off towards the communications hut, still grinning and shaking his head. The more he got to know his new friend, the more surprises he encountered. He had nearly reached his destination when Biggles exited and the two walked together down to the shelters where the ground crew were finishing preparing the Beaufighters for their mission.

"Get the message off?" he asked companionably.

"Yes. Ted's waiting for the reply."

Algy eyed his cousin curiously. "You're happy to leave him in the communications hut? Thought you were a bit worried about his loyalties?"

"I was initially," Biggles paused to light a cigarette. "Let's face it, he's Intelligence, Algy. If he wanted to send a special comm through to Brisbane in the middle of the night, he'd do it, no matter how much I guarded against it. Look at the things you and I've pulled off in the past. The right man will always do his job no matter what the odds are. So I'd rather he sent any intel stuff through openly and not put obstacles in his way. But I do trust him now. I believe him when he said he's answerable to Ken, through me in the first instance. He may only be a sergeant, but he has as much pull as any brass hat in the service and right now he's working with us. I actually like the chap, now I'm getting to know how he ticks."

"Do you think the reason he keeps knocking back a commission is just to annoy his father?" asked Algy curiously.

"I don't know and he certainly won't admit it, but I do wonder," Biggles grinned. "And I'm beginning to think the man actually enjoys being a NonCom, even if it is just to thumb his nose at tradition."

The two exchanged companionable grins and continued down to where the pilots of 666 were waiting, for the 'losers' had gathered to see their comrades off on their mission.

….

Algy watched Ginger and Angus roar up beside him as they reached altitude and settled down for the westward flight. Tug Carrington was in Algy's rear cockpit, while Henry Harcourt manned the rear guns for Ginger; and Taffy did the honours for Angus. Algy had imposed radio silence – barring emergencies – until further orders from him and the three machines cruised westwards in relative silence, their occupants keeping an ever vigilant watch on the surrounding sky for any lurking enemy aircraft. Finally, Algy saw their target on the horizon, steaming away on a north-westerly course. He waggled his wings, leant out of the cockpit and pointed ahead, looking first at Angus and then at Ginger, each of whom nodded in response. They followed Algy as he altered course slightly to ensure they now had the sun directly behind them and headed unwaveringly towards their target. At Algy's signal, all six airmen reached up and closed their canopies before commencing their bombing run. As they neared the ship, Angus and Ginger peeled away, swinging in a wide arc so that they would each approach the carrier from opposite sides with Angus aiming for the front and Ginger across the ship's stern. They roared low across the water, dropping their torpedoes and, pulling the controls back, zoomed high across the ship and circled above as Algy also came in from behind, releasing his bomb as he roared the length of the ship, zooming high and wide and joined the other two above. As they turned together towards the doomed carrier, ready to complete another strafing run, there was a muffled boom and the middle of the ship erupted in flames.

"Make sure none of those infernal Zeros get off," Algy shouted over the R/T as he roared back down towards the inferno below, focused entirely on the carrier's landing deck. Ignoring the flak from the few anti-aircraft guns still being operated, he roared over the confusion below and, lining up a row of Zeros in his sights, held his thumb on the firing mechanism as he shot across them. Angus and Ginger had followed and as they circled towards the stern, Algy nodded in grim satisfaction when he saw the devastation below. No Zeros from that carrier would bother them again. He watched dispassionately as the carrier broke up and began to sink. In the midst of the inferno below he could see men diving overboard as lifeboats were frantically tossed into the sea.

"A taste of your own medicine, chum. You started it," he muttered as, satisfied that their mission had been successfully completed, he signalled for Angus and Ginger to follow him as they turned back for home. "Keep your eyes peeled, everyone," he ordered. "That was almost too easy. Biggles wants us to take a dekko at the survivors of the _Gunadoo_ on our way back. I've got the bearing."

They had no trouble locating the unfortunate naval vessel and, ordering the others to keep watch, Algy swept down and, holding the machine at not much more than stalling speed, flew along the length of the small cay, waving to the group of men staring up at him. He climbed and circled while he wrote a note, assuring them that help would come as soon as possible, which he weighted and dropped on his next swoop. He circled back and along the beach again, where he noted that one man held the note and waved acknowledgement. Knowing he could do no more, he rejoined Ginger and Angus and continued the eastward flight, keeping a constant watch for enemy aircraft. After an uneventful flight, they landed safely back at Handy Cay to be greeted by their compatriots.

"Any problems?" asked Biggles as Algy accompanied him back to the squadron office. Algy shook his head and gave a concise report on the exercise.

"Any word from Ken yet?"

'Still waiting. He said to stand by for further orders."

Algy frowned. "Those blokes are going to be having a tough time on that coral cay. I hope the powers-that-be don't take too long to get a rescue under way."

"I'm sure they'll be doing their best. This probably isn't the only issue the Aussie Higher Command is dealing with right now."

"Not much comfort to the boys on that cay, though."

"No, it's not. We both know that and complaining isn't going to change it. We still have another job to do today and that's locate that wretched U-boat."

"Biggles, there's an awful lot of water out there and there must be hundreds of islands scattered around and we're still expected to locate one submarine?"

Biggles smiled slightly. "That's right. Ken wanted to know if we'd had any luck with that yet."

"Oh, did he?" sneered Algy sarcastically. "I presume you told him what we've been doing here these past couple of days?"


End file.
